the spine concaves
and the eyes search for any figure
but even the shadows have fled.
her ears search for the slightest sound
but even the whispers have stopped
There are tricks
sometimes
when the floors creak and
eyes light up
anticipating a face but
all they see is the dark
never-ending hallway
it’s cruel, really
what that hallway tempts
at the end
could there be a whisper?
could there be a face?
the fear of traversing it
though
is longer than the length
of that never-ending hallway
so, the eyes close
and stop looking
and the ears stop trying
to find the whisper
that once encouraged them down
that never-ending hallway
the spine concaves more and more
leaving almost literally
a shell of eyes, of ears
not even a shadow.
finally it concaves.
The Poetry of Jeffrey L. H. Naylor 