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Falling ...
Balanced
on an unkind edge,
a razor’s breath away from shadows descending
to now-dusty pages.
Too treacherous a fall to expect to ever stand again
with eyes raised to the sun.
Reside beneath my pillow and speak to me in the dark
of visions that fill your head in endless sleep.
I will curse the light that cracks my window
with lazy
spite.
For in this unworld of unsleep,
you are free of now
and
our shadows make footprints.
Your hand is strong in mine
and your ink fills volumes of tomorrows
yet to live.
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