As you gazed briefly at the
gap between frame and closing door,
what was happening remained ambiguous.
Unable to tell how many
paper-thin promises would fit between
you and the world until you've finally locked
You came close to the pole
and the compass needle
danced lunatic pirouettes.
So you filled your horizon with skyscrapers
and trapped yourself
at the places you intended
to linger as briefly,
as you occupied yourself
with the movement of closing doors.
Once you were unable to stand the dark
Your impatience sliced up the heavens
trails of light.
But the feathers in the cushions
on which your dreams lay their scene
Can’t ascend past the roof of your house,
too estranged now from the angel wings they
No longer resemble.