28 November 2015

On a Cold Night in October

There was only a pane of glass
between me and the sea
that night--thin as a filament,
barely a figment of reality.
Only that pain kept me from
the water, deep and black
below me, so many storeys
below me, so many stories
between me and the sea
that night. The fey lights of
the ferry drowned in the mists
in the Sound, rushed landward
in the Sound without a sound
because of all the storeys
between me and the sea
that night. The faerie lights
glowing in the mist,
that will-o'-the-wisp,
called deeply to me,
called me to the sea,
but the filament of reality,
the pain of a pane of glass,
thin as a figment, stood
between me and all the stories
that kept me from the sea
that night.

written 02-11-2015

Slipped by the crook of the hook

I want to glimpse
the look I mistook
when I hid behind
my borrowed book.

That look was a hook
meant to catch
in its crook
the eye of a girl
in a nook
with a book.

But it never took.