Dead Eyes Open, Or, How The Woman In The Attic Fled, Never To Return

My eyes are arid and cold on a portrait's insides.

I am time-hardened wax and I can see wide!

Fungus and frost have fondled my frontside and I- Did

he wonder and wander in small ages?

Did he forget that I died?

He's older and ugly and a beautiful baby,

he's retinal mist.

Far away, far away,

leaning and turning,

I moan and I list!

Not flying, not walking,

porous, like curtains,

I hang on the dampness of Spring!

I've known my own scrapings for so many years,

I know that something is coming!

Not demon, not quickly, gradual breaking glass...

My knees will go out from under me!

I've borne my own weight for so many years,

I know the ground is dissolving!

Not under, not behind, not slow and torpid...

I'm far-away attic frost, free and untangled!

free and untangled!

Didn't he wonder?

I shall surprise him!

Did he forget?

I shall remind him!

Please hold my hand,

beautiful, ugly man!

I've come untangled,

but we shall find frost again!

Dizzy and turning,

you never need walk!

I shall carry you, hold you,

early and blinded!

My son is no burden,

I'm ancient with sorrow strength!