Turning back hands on the clock
To 10:00 pm Friday night,
February 1952
She stares blankly
Out the front window
Snow falls delicately
Animated between thoughts

I watch her eyes roll back
To the ceiling
As she studies the pattern
From which each crack
Begins and ends

Blond locks of hair
Fall behind her breath
inhaling
Night ridden despair
exhaling
Momentary sickness

I fall to your whims
Before you bow in secrecy
I hold your ambition
Placed in the pill jar
Next to the bed

I saw you let go of the night
Braced between your fingers
Blood beneath your pen
Pushing your back against the wall
Embracing the fall
As your knees buckled
Beneath you