Fence

I eye this fence at night:

darkness billows, runs past it.

I think of wearing a word

and crossing over the fence -

quitting for an hourglass' worth of time

the world of pretense.

Blue, the banks; red, the brook -

beyond the fence I only look -

look at the barrenness that may

bloom me and itself

once I cross the fence

for a tiny hourglass' measure of time?

I seed wait into the window pane -

nothing blooms.

Darkness wags a tail,

unwelcome, yet so inside

my side of the fence.