roxyforthewin

A dogwood tree grows in my front garden. It is small, somewhat peaked, somewhat scrawny. It's imperfect. That tree has watched me grow up.

The horseman rides.
He rides through valleys of smoke and hills of shadow.
He rides through empty cities of gray concrete and twisted metal.

I am holding a secret in my mouth
It is cold and hard and round and tastes of snow and iron fences.
It is smooth and bitter
It is a key and it locks me in
It is loneliness
It is a white canvas on gray museum walls

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In the empty space between words
I find my peace
I step
Through the empty space between the stars, for they are no longer portences but balls of gas and fire
I breathe
I open my eyes onto the world of the night
I gasp