there is no room for me up here
sacrificial and silent, i haunt
col metal halls; her
slippery slope has frosted over
sight is truly blinding and i find
myself looking for a face to know
and love more than my own
can they see me with a little more
than a telescope or have i become
a supernova that burns the retina?
i write about shadows and the ice
of the moon; you mistake me for
becoming what i've already been
