When her sun sinks, swallowed by the dark
of hallucination, she’s a wind chime on
the porch, a crystal reflection on the sea,
blue and cool, tossing lassoes with dark
private tongue spoken in backrooms of
Her love is confusion:
when he says it’s the night and it’s the eagle,
when she says it’s the tower and it’s the wind.
Time increases or decreases,
navigating through screams and
fog in the aura of her world.