Skull

I do not know if I am within
an insipid hollowness.
Or whether it is I
who contain the frosty skull.

I hear water flow -
blatantly congruous
to the congress of all
that is living.

But all I see is the
inevitable skull,
shorn of its connects,
and colours.

It can never look at me.
And I -
I always choose
to look at it.