Tonight, the void creeps
in, with him, through
the wood framed doors.
like a heap of ash after
a day underground.
the bone, the eager heart, the eyes
that follow every gesture.
What survives now of the tower dream,
the stone skipping and the wishing well?
Both hands pressed against the T.V. set,
trying to block the talk
the cut and thistle.
Both lovers glancing at the street lights’
for the other to give
the word –
a blue blue touch
© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Medusa’s Kitchen” October 2018
Published in “Harvest” 1996
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