sepia

[EllaDesbals]

I am permitting myself
a silence to things

and three days of rain

no more parting the bed

no more threadbare writing
allowed to remain as evidence

*

again a loss of breath

again a room amplified,
the theatre of a girl

a cold sun shining
through the dream hole

and having to shade the place

*

how the music will fail
to carry the weight of promises

how sepia will rage
in a burnished frame

your sloping face still hung
fringed with the same silver

you still shove
at memory

*

I am permitting myself
a silence to things

and three days of snowflakes
at the window

no more mosquitoes
or dust

but again blasphemy on my lips

and still a prickling on my skin,
my head turned away

*

my transparent skin
assembles every day in the mirror

so I adjust –
do the ashes adjust?

your face is blind

your face again is no answer

 

[(Wordy)]

Great to see you posting here again... I really enjoyed one of your earlier poems, and I know I wasn't the only one. You have a very distinctive voice.

There's an air of mystery to this one... it's fragmentary, but grounded in some vivid imagery.