faceless not reflected by mirror
always hiding
underneath
skin that
crumbles
in cold air
and stretches in heat
like any
skin a pretender
a dark man loving to
climb trees
and jump
off cliffs in the night
without knowing whether it
is ground or sea
he
will dash into.
In some nights he comes to
my house
and sits on a
metal chair
bringing it in from I don't know where
bringing it in from I don't know where
quiet and static behind the
kitchen sill
watching cars
in the street, passengers,
streetlights reflected in rain
streetlights reflected in rain
dropping from window panes
while
I try to sleep in the
other room
counting breaths crawling through thresholds
counting breaths crawling through thresholds
longing to breathe into me
what he sees but cannot tell
what he sees but cannot tell
I am not
sure
whether I want to know
whether I want to know
and hold my breath till it is morning.
