Confront the Night

Washing basket’s open-mouthed,
wardrobe door tight-lipped,
love’s held-down among shirts.

Frost’s gathering sparkles,
trees stiff, stuck in glue,
dustbin full of the week.

You confront night,
knife lances in two
you can never be.

Tom Kelly

Taken from Issue 32
Spring, 2011
The Journal

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