A whisper in the wind and I wonder- voices in the distance wind their way up the stairs, and I wait.
Caught between realities, I don't know where I am.
My fist pounds on your door- my arm is tired but you do not come.
Enticement-meant to drag me away, I dig my heels in, yet you do not come to my aid.
In a way, your gift of freedom is poisonous- I fear I will turn the other way, unable to resist, and you will not step in.
So I worry, as I watch the rain on the windowpane, and I pray you'll open the door.
Moonrise A record of my remnants, paperback/katie hulme
