Closing In

The heel at the neck —
Down pushing down.
I crumble in the middle
And the purple lights dance in front of my eyes,
Fading to green.
The empty shadow stands in the corner.

No light can be cast in that quiet, desperate quadrant
Of the descent.
Any light,
Any warmth
Would be welcome,
But no longer knowing how to seek it
I curl inward —
Remove the shoes,
Walk out into the snow,
And lie down in a drift.

The wind howls above
As the ice flows in
And the frozen wings shatter.

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About Emily

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

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