The Threshold

There is a broken picture on the floor,

The one I tried to tape back together

while one hand was tied behind my back.

there is the statue of a horse on a shelf

near a water glass.

He refuses to drink.

There are fabrics and threads

that I've woven

into beautiful,

scenic,

tapestries,

and a candle in the window

still burning

through the cold winter nights

through all the infinite pools of dark

the candle

is still

burning