Bowl of Light - The Argotist Online

inertia
I await miracles
same as anyone;
maybe a little more obvious,
maybe I lean forward, even
when there's no headwind
these things
seen, over
time
I await miracles on the street, one
down from your old house,
where you lost that tooth
where the heavy pile of the carpeting
hid monsters
and faeries, both
flew out at night
to tease your tender nostrils
and shadows scraped the windows
like a dream of hungry ghosts
who was that angry child
with a broken collar bone
and magic power, with
a silent voice made
from glass, shells and neon
butterfly dust
destined to sing
to cats
suspended in flight
I await miracles
same as anyone
without a handhold or eyes.