may crosses the threshold;
still in place despite being shaken,
things dangling in a state of shock, matters frenzied.
all i could do is stare at its tail ends, its ides, its roots, fiendish.
time is a quicksand, it has taught.
the month’s chasm i find myself suspended in,
as only half and in a room hellish, four corners built precariously
pent up dread snowballing.
breathe in breathe out
may leaves,
a sigh of only minimum relief