“Cut your eyes closed, child.”/Zachary Scott Hamilton

Blind man,

leading fingers inward towards

the trap doors

cycling where the windows

fell,

I was cigarette mouth man

in a story

only meant for

a whisper –

Some great roar.

He rotates the position and presses three buttons

all at once.

“I am alone and she is alone, together at last”

“winter mist continues a cycle

through bars.”

Her lung tissue separates

“housing for the blind.” She thinks.

The rivers cross her spine.

She snores into the cot,

still

of better places

along the

cypress

overlooking mountains, oceans of chamomile.