Attic room with dust-frosted window, my ice skates on the wall Tenacious woodpecker wanting entry Furtive spiders haunt the far corners, wax malevolent
I was the split-lipped resident of musty places
Unused things, a long-forgotten, still-preserved thought Slivers of childhood sadly captured Better discarded for joy's impermanence
Swaths of polluted water under indigo horizon
Sixteen boxes unlabelled Flesh and bones rise into dust tornados Shake, don't open
Silvered paper leaves fray and dance in the winds of a distant city
