FEAR OF MORNING

Light
That spreads over the room like a screeching phantom
Every morning, recovers my mutilated words and leaking books.
Recuperates a history of excessive talking and works on the sewing of silence.
Finds myths and surreal foam, scent of sea salt and a pinch of hilly whiff
Tucked neatly in my brows. Lifts the thoughts of love with
The brightest granule and the drops it again..
In the laces of foot marks and soggy biscuits
On the tray....
Doors bang. Clocks melt with heat...