there is a place
inside
where hinges
the space under the door
itself is shadow
a personal interest in perception
makes of the visible
intruders
faces of voices a mothprint
spark upon the shade
the dying in the doom
a slow unravel
setting the mortar between the stone
of hard-won space
assurity to be defined
a might won by conflict
all the hands of clocks
point to the tower’d
monolith of flameflesh
upsprung sword
words wring poison out of bladders
or armored defenses wrist the cuts
eternities of argument
bar all passages
the way out is through
a papered-over frame
of letters written, rewritten
for love: a hate eternally afire
and gloom lay rheumy
underpinned
for all a want gone
nobly as the flower
for this a push crawls inward-out
saddened eyes mask a fearing stammer
one foot wrong
cost the magic cast
so delicate the weight
of tear-spent words
strengthening reciprocal transmitted
boldly, but caution constant needy sounds
when all is right embrace is there ensured
though should they not
the snare’s
a rosethorn for the stumble
© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.
