Wider Than The Frame

A thing we cannot name Wider than the frame Sitting in my chair

 I feel the absence there And it’s hell. 

 Knowing of your flight

 Brings paleness to the light

 The days are washed with bleach

 The nights are without sleep

 Beyond my fragile reach [ “To the future blindly”]

 Beyond my gift for speech [ dragging you behind me ]

 Something I cannot name [ Then the touch of turpentine ] Wider than the frame

[ everything turns serpentine ]

 And it’s hell.