Stone Tape Theory

I want you to know–crow
feathers, ghost stones, all
the residual energies we share

still linger in the inanimate
surrounding us. Twisted realities
telling us the past never leaves,

whether we want it to thread us
into silk or leave us to unravel–
Not our choice. Creaking tarnished

floors vibrate with our breath, absorb
all the flaring between us. Small
fleeting pulses, weight of worry

disintegrates with the black, jagged
mass stealing the horizon line. Mountain
faces only holding a few streetlamps

we can see if we hold our breaths,
wait for a sign in the silence,
focus our eyes on seeing light…

Columbine padding for all emotions
we can’t expunge without cutting
red into our vision, frustration

or crushed shells settle like dust
outside of blue fingertips. One of us
has to be the first: tear out her eyes,

 wait in darkness–white orbs, puffs
of shadow we can’t get answers from,
restless recording of voices with no names.

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