when the wind comes to life
and twirls round the dancing curtains
in a storm of grey
like a puppet-master welcoming in the cold
giving it a home
along the ridges of my skull

when the wind blows
and puffs coughing cigar clouds
conquering the sunless sky
dimming entire constellations
my jaw begins to ache
as I pull out
tooth by tooth
to try repair the dark
but all that’s left
is an aching abyss
staring out into
the endless night