Monday, April 3, 2017

Trace

 
trying to part curtains of fog    fingers leave translucent streaks
that quickly turn opaque         I can just make out
the broken shards on the table               but can’t picture
the vessel they once formed           fingers of mist
close around everything          I reach for where
your hand was         there’s nothing but a cold spot
in the air         even in my mind
the things of the world            are partially erased          
I try to draw them again                  but the lines
are indistinct and shaky              I close my eyes
but even the darkness is not                   as black as it once was
the void is watered down              awash with gray
I hear the muffled sounds of shots         but they’re blanketed by static and
I was probably mistaken and how did         that glass get broken      what did it
once hold, did we drink it all               did it spill           did it merely evaporate    
I don’t remember           I only know that my hands are wet
and my throat is parched            and I’m breathing that fog
deep into                    my lungs

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