the silence you make for me
occurs
stood where
statues
sleep
spun fingers
trees lose
their fingerprints,
lose waking
and skirts rust
blooms are buried
scared of frost,
whiteness soon ghosts
the feeling of floors
the sameness, but where
i stride, wrongness,
footsteps not meant to belong
and the sky is quite wrong
and bird song does not fit,
funeral scarves have taken
down the sun to a petal broken pit
atoms disconnect, and the curve
straightens, blood looses prose,
and stillness is shaken, where are
those days the flower grew?
in the roots i follow secure as quiet
where does anyone’s shadow roam?
against them like a lean to horizon
like a shoulder stood rook
there are whispers that unravel, confused
as breezes, there are whispers that tear
apart before being read, why aren’t you
writing upon my sleep?