Baldechin

 

The sky was hung over 

like a silver silk dress, overlaid with lace

expired and tired

hanging in Miss Havisham’s wardrobe. 

 

Autumn has won –

as it inevitably does. 

 

Like the forgotten dress,

I too had hidden inside a closet all summer like a forgotten season’s fashion. 

Really, I needed the bracing spin pushed down by those delicately embroidered clouds. 

 

I thought of the journey ahead

and how re-immersing myself into the tumble of greys

would fade any colour of optimism that might have set in whilst I’d hibernated. 

 

This is how the silkworm would feel

if it knew its fate when its safe cocoon was

finally

cruelly

robbed. 

 

I looked up to where my sight faded into the cataract above.

 

I fastened the curtains together again, and sat.

 

Perhaps another day.