my image is cut off, I am covered in ice.
from this
angle of night I have no mouth,
no ears, no
pain, no gestures,
only a gaze
that draws blood backwards,
through
tunnels of ruffled sleep.
wrapped in
confined space, in light twists
of seconds,
incidences
of past swim through your mind
as darkness
merges with the lines of my body
and once
again I turn to fields of frost.
between two
walls of memory,
winter
takes over all heart territory.
distressed
by the sound of breakage,
we fall back
on the thieving thoughts
that push
us separately to the old house,
only to
find it vacant.
