There is an island that reminds
The sky of a day two times older
Than yesterday when the clouds
Were made of parchment and
Crackled as they blew.

Like a multitude of butterflies
Or a flagrant song of a youthful
Nightmare that crawled through
The door with hands made of wax and
Skin of splotchy green and black and
Blue, it reminds the sky of someone.

A joker, a smiler, a giggling young
Toy meant for a shelf but falling
Once a day like a sweater from a
Hanger that nips at a falling sleeve.

There that day the sky swam in the sea
Surely seeking, screaming, south; down.

"Come here, I heard you fall and

(I've been watching you.)

Roll beneath the desk and grab with
Your splintering hands at the floorboards

(Like little wooden dice that old men
Are throwing in the evening.)

Because you have to make sure that
Your feet are out of the light."

(Or maybe you remembered that the
Nightmare loves the dark.)