When They Scurry
Night after night I still dream about these blocks. Dance they do, dance they don't.
Seeing them hand-less in effortless glide, my mind strides so young to differ!
squared, cube, these blocks move
sporadic movement in dance
no rhyme, reasoning
Again the nights throw these scratching sounds from below my bed, dread I.
In confusion scrawl, they bawl silently to me, em-blazing their letters to allure
from within my abyss, this deep that haunts me, yet I know is alive.
scurrying, confused
to and fro they go, they show
mis-spelt disarray
Again I'm sitting, anticipating, yet I know where I am, I'm home, again alone.
I'm under, yet bolder, shouldering at six years old, now seeing clarity, for the
blocks are speaking to me, I see, now crying believe.
no longer grotesque
his zest upon his request
blue lights alight, gone
.
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