pinpricks of light shine
through the rotting spokes
of the wooden shed
beside my bed
of hay and cloth
lay scratched frames and memories of
a wife, another, and a child
creaking oaks cut the air
howling boards cry
my trinkets shake and repeat
beside my bed
move closer
under the moaning shed
to rich and cool soil
putrid stale winds emit from below
nails peeling to the bone
twitching fingers mauling the dirt
under the bed
a peaceful silence
warmth from the earth
lays
my worn palms, clutching the ivory hands
of
my
wife
my
child
my
wife
my
child
and I