FOUR: Intangible Wildfires

Dusk sets in gradually to a night,

Birds of dark feather now take flight

Cold blackness arises to feathery orange,

Sleeplessness resonates in rage

Dawn erases footsteps like the beach,

Eyes that fear are closed stitched

IN HIS ROOM lit only by the cold, cyber realms of his computer, Mickey wrote poem after poem. Remnants of scars on his forearms reminded him of years and instruments past. Typewritten poems became his liturgy and coping mechanism. Gone are the years that his only sense of calm was the sharpness of a rusty piece of metal.

Yet Mickey found himself secretly longing for it. Petrarchan words in lines and sonnets stopped working. Why did it stop work