opened eyes
to a blinking cursor,
blank page:
a winding-sheet for my
thoughts, wrapped up in
themselves, leaden;
lacking
inspiration, expired.
they keep carefully to the edges,
tiptoe around the truth
which threatens to hit
them like a gale, knocking the wind
right out of me, tormenting;
it was lack of
breath
that brought us here
in the first place.