The hand reaches out from the bed, failing to grasp the bread, circular again,
appearing from the hands of another.
Paralytic, unmoving, seeming to be controlled by wires attached to broken skin, stuck.
Awkward, the talk would make her seem to again lose grasp, cast out in exile once again from the conversation
from inside.
Dimming, beautiful light, disgusting dark spilling onto personality and memory.
Touch and sound severed
Shadowed sight and blocked canal.
At last, a taste.
Poetry - So Far 