Drinking This Poem Poem by MARINA GIPPS

Truth, as we see it, is fiction.
Befriending bottle, wine spills,
letters from no one and from
someone-strewn,
i hold myself.

i cannot answer
your words for mine
are being taken
by this poem

right now,

i feel blind
as the dog on the street,
blue night air of a dream.
It is cold, the dog emaciated.

Howling at a potential moon,
though no light
would show through.
i am this dog.
The voice enters me.

And the vision that was lost
is felt in the colors
of touch, of smell.
These tones too,
overturning with time.

When the bottle is empty,
the pen is no longer fluid,
and the walls of the sky come to a close.