you are the hand
hauling back
my cries. my mother’s
mother hardened
from dust.
you are almost
my eyes.

you are not sky
or frozen air.
i suspect  
you have no skin.

love is my left
wing smacked
on your pane
that i mistook
for an open door.

i let the nights
do their undoing
of my feathers into light.
maybe this way
you would welcome me.

It'll creep into your mind
sits in the back and festers
until you acknowledge it
and it makes you sick
having plagued humanity for centuries

It doesn't matter you're happy
a miserable wretch
or a beloved spouse

The dark has no preference
the shadow consumes you sooner than you think
gently swaddled in the shroud of time
something only man knows and keeps
until the end.