Sunday, November 20, 2016

Stone Walls

“Sometimes we seek that which we are not yet ready to find.” 
― Libba BrayRebel Angels

Your secret corridor,
Your foggy fiction,
Could only live
In suspense.

Your grey-faced
Fiddling
With
Maybe,
Degraded walls
Of stone
And bone.


Softness on either side
Was lost
As you
Measured
The width
Of meaning
And miscalculated
The price of
Closing your
Eyes.

Your story
Had no clear exits
And entrances,
Just the way you liked--
Hanging in mid-air,
Unfettered by
Gravity,
And speculation,
Your mind aptly directed
Each twist and turn.

Bricks of
Red clay and
Robin’s Eggs,
Were sound
Here, yet
Unsecured boards
And expanding cracks
Still found you.

You scoured
The perimeter
Wondering  what
Got loose?

You sent up flares
To spot your
Uncooperative
Creation.

You found a way
To contain
The animal.

You hid it inside
Thick folded notes
Turned over and over,
Dusted
With grains
Of hourglass
Sand.



Diane Keys 11/2016