Think In Texture, Breathe In Colour

evening.

stormy light , filled with dew

as the sorrow of the sky , beats the pane

crying out in the agony , of a lost child.

the bruise of cloud , moving diaphanous round

'Things Fall Apart ; The Center Cannot Hold'

reads the ink , reflected from the palm.

penumbra creeps across the floor , crawling

behind it , only darkness and secrets

the dulcet white noise outside , that mood.

minute runs to hour , hour runs to forever

time begins to conflate , when will it end 

my mind blooms , the day wilts.

thoughts and word , lyric and swirl of colour 

my brain is alight , as if a match fell to dry corn

the light inside my head , drowns the dark inside.

petrichor fills the air , drop dances over dust

in fluid motion , of calm and ache

windows to the soul , fall down one last time.