Blindness : Unfolding

My heel screeches on wood as the
clouds come up: I can feel their damp.

Ecstatic waves blow and blow to
make this bed a ship in storm.

Dew on my tongue and haste on my lips;
a train screeches a mile or two away.

The ground is a taut skin and it soothes me
as life in blood can soothe all in passing.

This dark keep is a warmth to adore
from now until the end; a blackness looming.

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