2/20/14

BlackCircle

It was winter, close to spring.
Days would break weather, but chill found shadows.
Air crisp enough for long whistles...
...perhaps not crisp enough. 
In nightmares, I hear the crack of lightning & wake drenched in fear,
soaked in repetitive skips.
The hallway light back lighting.
Sadness waves fall around.
The clapboards snap & splinters pierce the air.
Her picture is clear & hauntingly silent,
glowing here in the darkness.
Dylan spins in the other room, softly.
"You're gonna make me lonesome when you go."

(rest in peace Sarah Jones: Tough Like a Giraffe)