In eyes whose panes….
With eyes whose panes obscure a curtained depth
of shadows hid in secret lampless rooms,
I see a growing resonance of death:
the damp, decay, and stillness of the tomb.
The silent, prowling panther of the night
is threading through the sunbeams’ golden bars.
My eyes engage the swiftly-fading light
to wrest it from the secret, sullen stars
In desperation, fearing worse than life,
My resolution strengthens its control.
I sniff the air. But, slicing like a knife,
A damp, dead stillness enters in my soul