there is a room
in it are folds and curves and dark places
it is deeper than it first appears
it creaks
it cannot be touched but the texture of it is tangible
the skin of it is warm, molten heavy
and at the same moment so cold in some small way
that makes it both cavernous and metal sheened
wings, weathering.
it is a film of a moment that cannot be held
but can be witnessed in the palm of a hand (if you hold the one)
it is denser, weightless and not of this world but feet folded in
earth and sky and water
breath floods in upon the other
there was no thing before or after it
nothing tick tocks.
never has there been a shade
more dear and lovely or more gentle.
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