They Will Sew the Blue Sail

Late Afternoon in the Psychiatric Ward | Chloe Honum

The fluorescent light

goes off and the shadows

fall apart like a cardboard fort.

The invisible should be sturdier,

like that stormy summer

the rain came so heavy

the waterfall was just

a thicker column of sky.

Now a fly throws itself

down on the formica table

and buzzes and spins

on its back, quickening

the poison. It resembles

a word scribbled out.

Won't do, won't do.

But oh you of the river-

wet lips, I miss you

this moment, and this.