Stuck with stuck, door unmoving, wedged
in between the two planks– a struggle,
squirm, squeeze, wriggle– there. And the
night, too quiet for words, darker than
the darkest canopy– nether ink, silent blue
scribbling blindly, unguided all through
seeing eyes. only a wan tapering streak
seeping, sleeping through shut window panes.
Au fait of the quill caged betwixt the four
fingers; feels it's way, moves it's way and finds it
upon virgin bisque charm. Would dawn
uncloak the faith, satisfaction humming? Would
the edges be blurred evermore? Arcane
mist, unwillingly be scattered; just scribble.
Scribble 'bout now. 'Bout stubborn planks and me wedged between,
going in not, coming out not. Struggling
to know how else to struggle.
If dawn dawns the rays upon this threshold,
I don't know.
