Unlettering

In this cold place with our
lifeline cut, the bare
window blows me news of
exigence and silence
and here I must sit
the words becoming glue and
adamant in my mind,
the pliant screen reminding
me I have not done
and lie
some miles offshore
drowning in an element
that is not mine.   I suffer
the day, the blankness of the
sky, the old worn stones
stare blackly and offer
no relief, and my lines
fall on deaf ears before
blind eyes and my
ghost gives up with this
place wanting only
love and warmth

and silence of the 
crows crowing 
edge and dim as a 
raven's wing, this 
place grim.

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