Hands dancing in bubbles,
Scrub clean the plates
And begin again
To untangle these knots.

Let them in now —
They are not here
To hurt —
Or to take without return.

Climb the ladder to a red room.
We revel in our fear —
By a door,
Poised for flight,
Or perched like birds —

Quietly balanced —
Two ends of an axis.
Sustain the opposition,
The electrified boundary
Where unspoken words crackle and splinter
Like condensed starlight —
Mythology made real.

Take care now,
To conceal.
These are dangerous times for dreamers.

In the morning,
The world is all color
Cloaked in mist.
An affinity for this that I am.
But it is you now,
And your reflecting eye.
It could pierce these shadows.
Your vein-ridged hands
Smooth over the wrinkles,
And heal what has been hurt.

If you could allow it,
I would make this wind a lullaby,
Enfold you in throbbing flesh,
Lift the fallen feathers with a soft breath.

Perhaps we might find it.
An outlaw dream that does not ache.
A wing to carry us over these rivers.
And a map to lead us out,
That we might overcome
All these years.


About Emily

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

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