The Bookshop Sessions #19

Between, there’s a space Unseen 

or so it seems  

Between, the sea and soil 

Seem to guarantee

The oil will never rise 

Above my sleep a disguise hides in that morning walking me. Through the daze, I had this one Spirit shouting its whispers. It kissed us spritely, as it says; 

There is a subtle difference between; 

The imagines of water held and forearm relief

In the dead of night the black birds still sing. 

As dusk shifts the haze into clear sight, it all crumbles. Sits there, settling amongst the dust.

The fallen children of Phoenix still burn from a lack of words.  Scratching at fire scarred hands. Between the space they scream, letting sand and gravel fall from chapped lips into the stream below. So they know. 

It remains unseen.