Unfurnished Rooms
by Odin Roark

Yesterday

Bridges ceased to be,
leading to residue memories of live times,
beneath which mud and leaves now congeal,
now but directionless currents
sweeping their tributaries out to sea.

Everyday dusk

The clock of sun and moon
unravels the flow of interval,
like a fraying-tale’s hem
where no amount of tying,
or untying,
can secure
a rapidly approaching time
when the worms come out.

Tonight

Heavy eyelids succumb to fluttering moments,
becoming rain showers of thought,
meandering streamlets
and finally a river to forge.

On the far side,
footholds of precarious words,
wanting only to afford pathway
to mind’s quieter listening shores.

Night remains

Respite for some,
a merciless river of time for others,
its clock meandering downstream,
resents daylight numerals being jettisoned
while the sleeper succumbs
to nocturnal hours’ cumulative weight
submerging beneath one’s pillow.

Enemies

Bear threat against ether’s healing attar,
one’s eternal jasmine encountering
the rapids of resistance.

Defenses

Attempt the beguiling of persistent threats,
wanting rest of the past’s tenuous clinging above fathoms deep,
where storm soaked burial clothes clamor to resurrect and…

Here

Awaiting the darkness’s captive war to end.
where everything,
save one’s sleep
converges like historic hunger,
the floating compost of life lived.

Morning

On occasion, daylight’s all night persuasive fragrance
makes passage to the other side,
collapses exhausted limbs,
opens lead-heavy eyes,
awakens consciousness and
discovers the place to find answers still remains
in the unfurnished rooms of mind’s home.