Recapturing yourself will be easy.
White still in the bedroom,
structure from private, necessary snow.
dreaming of silence.
Your mind is a playground of artillery.
Capturing the sense of yourself will be hard,
Lost 2 feet tall in a field of chaff.
The women have needles and no yarn.
A man sits toward the curdling sun,
his face a mouth.
Sound your siren song
A gentle offering of wisteria wishes
and sulking letters.
Give her a sonorous rope to tie round her wrist
a little balloon bobbing desperately toward mass.
Miniature Moon 
Beautiful poem, I love it. “your mind a playground of artillery” damn… beautifully put. I know exactly how you feel.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much for your lovely comment. As I sit here in a hospital bed it has truly made my night much better.
LikeLike
I’m so sorry you’re in the hospital. I’m really glad I could help your night though!! Sending love and healing your way! ❤️
LikeLike