Never to Dream of Spiders

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Time collapses between the lips of strangers 
my days collapse into a hollow tube
soon implodes against now
like an iron wall
my eyes are blocked with rubble
a smear of perspectives
blurring each horizon
in the breathless precision of silence
one word is made.

Once the renegade flesh was gone 
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October 
and death lay  a condemnation 
within my blood.

The smell of your neck in August 
a fine gold wire bejeweling war 
all the rest lies
illusive as a farmhouse
on the other side of a valley
vanishing in the afternoon.

Day three  day four  day ten 
the seventh step
a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary 
flameproofed free-paper shredded 
in the teeth of a pillaging dog 
never to dream of spiders 
and when they turned the hoses upon me
a burst of light.

© Elizabeth Daryush