Focusing on the Darkness

The wolf in the wardrobe tries on grandmother's dresses. What big eyes. The basket full of goodies slips into her underpants. What big teeth. What big teeth it has.

Warts on her eyes. Threading through the naught. Thieves in the copper. Kill the batteries again. The occasional chemistry of sorrow becoming constant.

It's back there. It's back there she says. In the dewy creases between here and madness. It's back there, but I can't get to it. Not without choosing what is gone forever.

She takes the mirror in doses. Fragile medications peddle their diseases. In winters. That have forgotten how to end. She rubs her matches against the rough. Trying to remember what the spark was.