the hour before dawn
a still point in a turning world
library reading rooms empty at night
enchanted forest,
the child lived
to the tick of a different clock.
old sepia photograph
drained of life
so many names, so many layers
whispering her name, the wind.
she lived as a ghost
nothing connected,
in her cloak of blue
she melted
into the bluebell woods.
seeing with different eyes
she wondered,
where does thought end...
