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In
eyes whose panes obscure a curtained depth
of
shadows hid in secret lampless room
I
see a growing resonance of death
the
damp, decay, and stillness of the tomb.
The
silent, prowling panther of the night
is
threading through the sunbeams’ golden bars.
My
eyes engage the swiftly-fading light
to
wrest it from the secret, sullen stars
In
supplication; fearing worse than life
–
a resolution seeking for control.
I
sniff the air. Then, slicing like a knife,
A
damp, dead stillness enters in my soul.
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