Flight of fancy
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One winter night
There were no trees
Silent
The still air
Hovered
Oppressive
Dry ground
Clouds
The weight of all
Fell down the stairs
To a dark
Musty-smelled hovel
Trembling, alone
With shelves of wood
No fire, no light
A nest of mice
Where the hole led out
Further into the mysteries
Feverishly sweating
Swirling ever darker
The lake stood frozen
Turned upon itself
Time refused to move
Ever seeping past the door
Where all could be
But never would
Perhaps to ask
What it meant
To see a flower pendant
Upon the neck
Hanging
In the curve of the elbow
Tension tightens
Releases
Flying geese
Squawk
Again silence
Among the tall grass
Ode to my Lost Mind
Less Cirrus
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