Skip to content

aperture :: nuar alsadir

by on May 1, 2016

I close the wardrobe, it opens.
I close the wardrobe, it opens.

Is that the way it will always be,
persistence as a form of flight;

my summons the rising and slamming tight
though rust will gather despite me?

I’ve folded my dresses, placed them
on shelves. I could affix

another hinge, but the walls
have become a cluster and repetition

a way to light—to light
through the absence it exposes.

Advertisements

From → poems

Comments are closed.