Passage

there is a woolen nest
under the walls of oblivion
silently constructed
by ghosts

in a dome as old as stone
soft paws grind my bones
unhinged
into strange shapes

gentle whispers bend carefully
through the night
around insect screams
and flowing light

quivering in greaves
I hear small questions
bounce against fluid stillness
met with slow dark blue replies

my body shakes
broken on the backseat
I float by heavy metal gravity
steady . steady . steady
to Little's home