Eyes are drifting never to rest, a frantic play of interest.
A life quivering and shivering small, under the spectacle on the bedroom wall.
At times a memory of a childhood past
with songs to sing and hills to hide
beyond the clouds that choke the light.
A fog so thick, the smell of nothing.
A life that lost the gold of loving.
Bony fingers, glistering eyes, tacitly seizing from behind disguise.
The fainting breath of my attention, the truth of life, my only possession.
