In this empty room
With a splinter of cracked light
I can watch the rise and fall of loyalties
throbbing between the recesses of darkness
From my window, the crescendo of hoarfrost
driving all things underground.
It was against indigo ceilings
And the critique of clouds
That my solitude seemed damned
They pity the dead
I pity the living whose roots are twisted
With fables and lore, strangling on hesitation
From the hallows…
Hades weaving control when there is none
You long to feel that sense of triumph
after you’ve climbed through that forbidden window
onto a clay roof of a brownstone flat
to dangle your feet over the edge
pull petals or seeds apart and drop them below
undetected

words © malai carrara
photo by lilyana karadjova