In the Eyes of the Frame

In docile eyes the sun
Hides from the day,
Leaving space for a blank abyss
That I crawl into 
When the light begins to burn my eyes.

I’ve found familial false hope among the branches 
Where swift wings take off, and, eventually,
Settle for a long winters rest.
I’ve settled into the comfort of the strong wood frame
That cradles the life I once lived–

The innocence I cherish like a small glass vase
Sat atop a windowsill where sun rays
Gleam through until late midnight hours.
Early morning ceases to exist within the frame,
Only an eternal sense of dusk is captured by the blurred

And fading pastels I once dipped curious fingers in
And left to dry until they soaked deep into my skin.

— Claudia Porter