zephyrs of melancholy

small
spaces
I’d loved
crawling into
their diminutiveness
as a boy
building
soft forts
of pillows
and cushions
and blankets
dark and private
I’d fashioned a sanctuary
away from the tall-sky
that’d left us all
lonely
even the religious
knowing–
they’d been
forsaken
I could see it
in their eyes’ reflections
hear its shaking voice
singing Sunday hymns
tho once inside my asylum
leaving behind
even my name, as given
I’d revel
in the gray-shadow sadness
that I’d find within
that which’d filled
the
small
space
with its
slow-spinning
zephyrs of melancholy
I’d breathe the bleakness
that pushed at the sides
swelling the bulging walls
knowing, at least
that
one
thing
had been real
one promise
kept
and I left the terror
outside
where it’d be as lonely
where it’d be as frightened
as everyone
banished from my haven
left with no one to love
and no one to forgive
its gnarled horror
tho sometimes
I’d felt badly
most times, in fact
always leaving
a gap
an opening
and if–
it’d wished
to curl up
beside me
it’d been
welcomed