Woolgather Poem by Joyelle Osburn

He speaks to me while I slumber-
(Hush)
his voice; matchwood.
my
perforated eardrum.
I went back only
to find the pandemonium-
two blisters crammed with fiery
and statues of what
used to be a pillar of dust.
Looking back,
I see him
hunting for the past-
(pasted to the wall)
Forgot my coat-
(shiver)
glaciers form on eyes
like thick smog
on the horizon.
He held the torch
that can no longer
melt the heart.

I shake myself awake
and I smile.