the dawn comes quickly, like the arresting crack of a gunshot
and quickly pass the hours, till all is once more drowned in black.
he is an invisible hand, six inches away from my face
and I wait for the rough fingers each time, I wait in chains for the blow.
the dawn comes quickly, like the blood of a wounded soldier
and quickly pass the hours beneath this eternal blindfold.
he speaks only in prophecies, never asks nor answers any question
and my knuckles, as they pound on crystal in hopes of explanation, are ignored
the dawn comes quickly, like the toss and catch of a small gold coin,
and quickly pass the hours, day reduced to embers before I can find the flame.
he is conductor, an artist with unconquered authority
and I watch from the back row, even as onstage I am led to crescendo.
we are flies trapped in a web, with the spider nowhere to be found
we are prisoners without ever once tasting sin.
Contributor: Marina Kovacs-McCaney
Copyright © 2013 Marina Kovacs-McCaney. All Rights Reserved.