A ruby-tinted shadow clamps my hand
And I’m wading in shards of glass and china
A child again, sanity tethered on Pinocchio strings
I can’t understand
The curtain fraying into cobweb ribbon
The buttercups bowing to earth
The russet swing mourning at dusk
I can’t see color
My silk finger scrawls on steam
My failure-of-a-mother’s maiden name
My stolen words dance along the casket’s borders
I can fly far, far away
To forgive, then grow
Inkling 