tunnel vision

i have buried my secrets
far underground, left
their evidence in the same
dark corner where i
abandoned my day clothes,
my pretenses and my decency, but
i keep my virtue wound
close and tight, a thread threatening
the circulation round my left wrist,
reminding me of a lost autumn air
or a late summer’s mourning rain,
soul myopic in the dawn-light of
memory, unwilling to forget;
unwary of its step;
hardly daring to breathe.