The unclothed plaster
Guards my reckless isolation
As the night departs to a more ancient place
To guard the wet sand from the thief-shadow

As I turn towards the ceiling
To escape time,
Her eyes shatter like a dark butterfly
Carrying the ashes of the abandoned light-meter:

Pasty stares devoid of
The iron underneath her clothes
Blazing, smoldering, carrying her elevated neck,
Her elongated ghost further and further . . .

I close my eyes voices whisper
It’s the television spawning chatter
Symbol of hope for those who listen,
Symbol of peace for the deaf and the unfettered deserter

Through blind windows
I climb the ladder above clothes
Above the rain haze
The mist of her last words

Above her weightless body
Heading off
Into the glowing clouds
Like clutter that claws at her lightness.