Shuttered My Mind

 

Shuttered My Mind

I have shuttered my mind from the mad fire

that torches the fraying ropes of contentment.
And I am not perfect yet; in fact,
I am so far from it I cannot find it on the map.

The connections wave in the air, sailors away to other duties,
while, landbound, turbulence wakes me every hour and
leaves my mind riddled with fallen leaves, broken branches
and shattered jars that once held messages from across the ocean.

I have lost heart in the desert
while panic attacked in the jungle.
I have lied to keep my name intact,
I lied to keep yours gilded.

The sun is shining today, the shadow of naked branches
are painted on my neighbor’s house. I peeked
between the shutters
and hoped the shadows would flee and leave me
ready to sing again

On buttes with native flutes in the background.

Every time I have danced, though,
every word I ever sang,
the next day my windows exploded,
my mind reloaded every action that proved
I needed to board it all up again.

The air does not speak, nor does the sun hug
the locks and granite traces away. A voice, though,
could add a tiny space to let one ray leak through
this untitled soul the sits alone.