A Blanket of Words

When I cannot sleep for fear to face again
The unspoken and unheard voices that would call down fire
Upon every folded-in flaw;

When these mute unfeeling creatures hover round the edges
On wings of bootblack leather,
Threatening to smother that voice which speaks most clearly;

When I sit and rock with worry that this melodic whisper
Of truth–comfort–breath and bone music
Will cease speaking for me forever;

I wrap myself in a blanket warm of word and wonder
And enfold my starry eyes, glance into darkness,
And pour forth onto paper.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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