breaths I can't hear
(nor feel) but see
by shuttered eyes:
crystallized, but
in summer eyes;
summarized
smokes and dyes.
Light intervenes
and I realize, but
steal half-hours
here, then there
like plucking raspberries
from foster patches
where unbridled thorns
gnash tips of flesh.
Still, I can't be kept
from bruised tenderness.
And Light intervenes
here, then there
until I realize
the breaths I can't hear.
I gasp
stretch blood into muscle
paralysis
wishing Light hadn't intervened
that the world wasn't ending,
and for bruised raspberries
I could keep.
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