Almost It Comes Back To Me
A Song I Used To Know I Used To Sing
Small, the hollow room unfolds,
still and in empty air.
I breathe, wreathed in cold, and blow
a song I used to know.
I used to sing:
“Before the newer eyes of blue
were other eyes of another blue—
Before the snow there was other snow…”
It stings, the recollected second fall
and the things that followed:
the walls, collapsed, unpinning
and the unpenned heart,
its ink expended, lapsing into cold.
Revised for: POETRY JAM