Shifting Light

An oblong of pale light

at curtain’s edge, a

shifting frame.

It is a window of hope;

I am darkness in the night;

shuttered and cosseted

with febrile spun mind.

I watch street’s light shift,

oblong’s lines drawn anew –

and I am in that frame,

a release, a gasp of air.

Far away, sounds of the night:

a scooting car, a whimper.

Here there is nothing;

grey lines on a wall; the

pain of eyes wide open

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