In the four walled cavity of my mind,
I make for myself an artificial night. And abound in the darkness
is the resonance of walls
which speak only silence.
I breathe memories
that dampen my spirit
and had it not been
for the warmth of my own solitude,
the very air that I remember would have frozen as crystals in my lungs.
I run my hands along reveries
and watch sepia brown emotions
which are as stagnant and unmoving
as the mud it has set in.
I, too,
sing a fearful trill
of things unknown
over distant hills.
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