The matches light the room
at least a tiny portion where I can use my bruised vision
I love my nails although my hand is numb and aches
A match goes off and I strike another one
There is a rusty mail close to the door
Like a knight, a guard of honour to secure the place
and make sure all splendour is safe – princes, princesses and all
That reminds me
of my blossomed rich garden, where every flower is caged in safety
surrounded by metal edges and love.
The door is unhinged and falls on my aching hand
raising stars before my eyes and voices in my head
I listen close and savour the voices.
I exert my eyes and savour the gleams.
I think all I can and savour the ideas rumbling in my brain.