downcast and doubled over

the pound of light and desire


flash and surprise my only defense

as rage thunders from the sky


this life without you:

my nerves are acicular and rare


I lost you in the smoke,

in the stinging gases


my reality a thousand shards of glass

each brilliant with gothic light


I sleep in the obsequious flattery of day

curled against the giant, prying eye, the sun


as I awaken all too many times;

in silence and this solitary light.


Susan Smith Nash

October 14, 2001