introverse


I’ve exhausted the words that I
write on your mirror,
and shrivel away into dry brown hide
within my house which is my tomb
under the roaring sun
and the harsh horizons.

when the full moon floods
the barren badlands
I shall retreat at last
into my cold sarcophagus,

in stasis suspended for
another thousand years,
till the water inverts its song

and finds me

Comentários

Mensagens populares deste blogue

taking flight

catch a window