(residence for unseen children)
This loathsome building, raised from scraps
of mud and paste;
this doleful edifice we’ve come to from such
vacillating from a sense of trust
its steel wove windows stamped with
silhouettes of tiny faces
humming madrigals of context
locked in rebuses of icy laces;
black marks for crows on leafless branches
scratched in ink
pressed flat against the sallow
paper snow clouds.
Through a high gate along the melting walk
to a towering set of rusting bars, whose
strung sleeping, coated in a crystal mist;
a young girl swings in a fog of breath;
her wild hair
her wet red hands
her glycerin eyes
heedless of the two stone angels
whispering in the fountain.
Jeff Thomas is a writer and artist from Long Island. Eyes went bad from wearing multiple corrective lenses drawing pubs and clock movements. Cooks and cares for multiply disabled daughter who figures often in his work.