Tip-toe, enfolding gray, sponge me away,
or steal my seated feet of clay out from
under me; either way, I fall today
into phantom frieze, come, foggy gray, come…

Hold me, depthless mind, terror left behind,
or sacrifice some dated memory
to rescue me from selfish being-blind;
I’m scared of my kind, tired of misery.

Fold me, years bereft -- flatten what is left,
or release your crease of patterned futures,
take sad weight from me, I ache to feel heft
of happiness repair fragile sutures.

Free me, flouted pill, bring peace to my will…
or return me to nether's shadowed chill.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Photo by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 5/30/04