Poetry

eastry

31 October 2013

pockets of air
trapped.

the icy roof of a lonely trough
a glassy captor.

they’re shifting.

cracks appear
like roots.

tap softly,
and they will
grow gaps

slowly open up and
scream
at the cold.

above, spectrous smoke
fills my nose
the smell of the ember

is crackling.

disturbed
the fragments float,
upturned

adrift in their rusty ocean.


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