In the quietness of years,
years looking back, looking
forward, the eye loses its place
in darkness and blinds itself.
In the room that I was given,
I collect beautiful things:
a green and wispy dragonfly,
a silver snakeskein, pieces
of honeycomb, thin as paper.
Before bedtime, I unlock
the windows to let darkness
fly in; a bottle on my nightstand
to trap it.
1 comment:
"a bottle on my nightstand to trap it."
Hey, where did you get that bottle, I've been looking for one of those but it always seems ...
;-)
Excellent poem!
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