Shadows
I cannot help the man lift the flower of his head against whatever force makes him stumble I cannot scale the peaks of mountains cut at an angle across the ceiling like books in bookends I wait for the light to take the things I see but cannot change these ephemeral things I cannot touch I wait for sunrise and the whitewash of sky stretched over me like a ceiling like endless miles of plaster mountains I'm floating over plotting the course of my escape if only I could lift the flower of my head against whatever force makes me stumble