Small Breaths

by Eileen Carney Hulme

No matter that my heart sinks,
sighs, with the weight of skeletons-
paths I forgot to follow
have slowly sealed
rooms go unrecognised
for fear of change
and I cry at the uncertainty of rainbows.
All the daydreams I stole,
refusing to give them back
are stored as silver dust
and each day is a small breath.

Last updated May 02, 2015