Creeping on the fringes of perception
Lurks a darkness I can’t tell is always there
It’s the crackle in the radio reception
It’s a fracture, in the snowglobe, thin as hair.
When life is flat it’s easy to ignore it
And coast smooth on the mercy of the fates
But those tricksy ladies tempt one to explore it
Knowing, though I do, a black dog waits.
I hold my breath, for if I let it touch me
Its inky gaze infects my mind and heart
The world shifts sidewise as its tendrils clutch me
Yet I give thanks that I can once more speak to art.