black morning- the birds fall apart
beyond the curtain, forgetting their lines,
and the regret hangs around my neck
like a talisman.
the knives are sound asleep in their
wooden block and, alas,
the gas still warms the house.
yes, this is clarity pressing her fingers
to my temples and lifting the fever
of earthworms and giants.
your face still haunts me
but only in the dark womb of sleep,
that cruel temptress.
you come like a shadow and
I am dressed in black, patiently
waiting to consume you.
clarity comes upon awakening,
when I discover how easily the dirt
and grit of your smile
washes away.
c'est la vie,
I can stand on solid ground.