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.