Red digital lines
of today.
The day closed,
still as a locked church
before even the stained glass
has come to life;
shut against the sunlight
and the news that will
break into my life, a thief
who steals my time
measured out
in pieces.
They make no sound,
except to breathe,
intake of air so silent
my lungs hurt to stay quiet,
and then, rise only by degrees,
inches that cannot be heard
for fear the news will be bad,
and the alarm will sound.
(c)Nancy Powell 2007
from How Far Is Ordinary
Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA
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