June 2, 2017

The reflection is mine…always mine

I walk through weeping willows

past large homes

homes I will never live in


Sounds trapped inside

of people and their things

I want to say I hear their muffled cries

but you and I both know that’s a lie


These summer nights…smell of whispering suicides…in lavender and orange blossoms disguised

These fading skies…beckon to mortal dreams…to bid them a long good night


My reflection sighs…now older and at times hard to recognize

as I walk amid large windows

silhouettes behind

curtains resembling her summer dress


And the poem keeps writing itself

the hard stuff cornered on the highest shelf

I am asleep

enshrouded in white sheets


I turn in the dark in bed

and there I am

my face enveloped

scarlet spots small then spreading

moving slowly

so so slowly


Somebody wake me


Before I wake myself