In dream-squalls, you dance like a blind cat

Striking parapets with claw and tooth —

Your ocher eyes as sealed as sundown.

Labyrinths twirl and twist

Beyond imagination’s barrows

Stuffed with thicket-thorns and

Weathered sheep-songs that clatter

And churn in your night-belly.

You have a stomach for sharp seeds

That germinate in sooty corners and

Eavesdrop for showers in cloistered crannies,

Those nooks where no beam falls.

And yet a glimmer slides beneath

The bed-sheets, a ray of grit

To lug daybreak’s wait from

Shadows to the edge of sunrise.

Independent content creator, ghostwriter, author https://tinyurl.com/y2cgqhgv mental health advocate, and poet. bridgetwebbber@outlook.com

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