imagination’s mists are gentle,
so easily scattered by heavy breath.
find your place of stillness—
intelligent molecules of water:
coalesce.
what of the burden?
that soft place within:
it guards my regret.
to let go of the past:
I grip its sands
in fiendish hands.
I guard my coal
as if it’s gold.
can I make myself known?
you hurt me.
can you hear me?
does this truth have a bite?
do you prefer to be blind?
darkness, a blanket:
do not hiss at the light.
but it’s the same story:
my father’s yours,
your father’s mine.
I’m tired of it.
I sat on the dead horse, cracked the reins.
Had the audacity to be stunned
when it didn’t move.
I am tired of it.
I now have my place of refuge
where I can breathe gentle,
imagination’s mists
suspended easy.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 