The Morgue File
I pin your voice onto the backs of my eyes
corneas etched with words
that feel like magic in the air,
in the red sky of the day.
I want to roll my coat in them,
stuff my pockets with their sounds
so that me who reads them
can always find her place in them.
I fear their fall into gutters,
their mixing with the sweat of the day
until ink runs,
before my eyes can really see.
If I am careful
I can hold them in place,
long enough for the ink to dry,
long enough for me to breathe them in,
long enough for me to remember.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015
Posted for the Toads Tuesday Platform