The house I am in, ancient
echoey
and paper thin
~
rattling on the side of a road
~
awake at dawn crack
through the dusty window
singeing the wings
of dead blue bottles
on the sill
~
my blue eye
lashes
my lower lids lap
dreams
only to suffocate from light
their dark throats closing
shutting sleep out
~
and the cack-cough-a-noise commences
and the commute comes relentless
and I try to be still
~
in a room that rattles
on mis-set bones that crackle
settling dreams that shattered
on the precipice of still
Sionnachaí 