Poetry

You want to cover 
the great distance, 
between you and lost innocence. 
 
The imploded silence 
will speak of 
great murders. 
 
I was going down- 
the stairs, 
to dig out the skeletons- 
 
from the latched, oak 
chest. The empty drawers 
had the imprints of fallen ancestors. 
 
Soon the eyes will 
swell, with salt of 
a frozen sea.