Arriving Home at
Midnight
The key turns stiff, steel, welcoming,
cracks in cheaply stuck-on walls,
builders curse watch-word left torn
to let in fractles ever-growing bloom
blanket across the broad-stitched
trinkets kept piling, piling on the
wood stand.
Fish-eyed pound of back lighting anchors
flopping whale tusk tough to
blind estimation's groping gaze
across the cleared highland blaze
of whatever this feeling once was
whatever had a baldly convincing
tone of make believe.
I would see wider, and still wider
by set sounds, but never so close
as skin-to-skin rubbed brass impression,
never so close to stain parchment ink.
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