TINS WITHIN THE LOST

jailed MY SHADOW IN THE NIGHT-
for telling stories to the trees -who bent over to listen closer
and in the blood each letter stroked
every word falling -every leaf adoring
another pill -its easy then the stories can become a purple sky cut from the crystal dreaming day-
darkness in its echo bed
repeating the leaning truth- self portraits gather amongst broken glass
another pill another drip of life -
the shadow carries the wooden cross -lost and found
the hand falls limp-cold as deep water fish -fingers uncurl 
drop to the ground the pill rolls -
stops -lost and found.