The dead encroach
in the small hours
where childrens’ toes hover
just-above-the-
hardwood
Only when the children slept undisturbed
There they may be glimpsed perturbed
professing woesome deeds
& If they woke and responded late
The ghost in question would kindly fade
Demurred by unimaginable pain
Unhealed by the illusion
Of resealable fortune & resealable fate
like the crow, a dark house shakes
off the ash of an urn, into the rain
—LM
(AUTHORS NOTE: I fear I am losing my touch)
The Lexicon 
Another beautifully vivid piece, dripping with dark imagery. Fear not – you’re still as strong a writer as ever! ❤
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Thank you for your reassurance. It means a lot 💕
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We all get these moments of self-doubt – even if you might not feel it’s a good piece, it will still resonate with someone somewhere & the world’s richer because you shared it. ❤
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if this is losing touch…goddamn…
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Thank you 💕
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No you aren’t, this is so mysterious and we’ll written.
Keep writing, it’ll click. Or take a few days off. But I’m still hooked, personally 👌🏾
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It doesn’t look like you’ve lost your touch to this time-traveler… Good stuff.
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