Grey

 Faint longing drags fangs where I thought certainty would be.
It’s been several eclipses worth of recall and still you elude me.
Don’t you know the cliff crumbled beneath me and my breath
turned to milky illusions that reek of stale moments?
Neither sustain me.

Behind, the vault dial turns each clickety tick.
I pretend to lean back but it’s false mortar, ghost bricks.
The fall is denied. Without polar gravity I drift.
No direction, no landing. No broken bones.
No healing.

There is a bag of crystal shards.
One piece large enough to grasp
reflects empty specks, overlapping ovals.
Where my hands should be, grey shadows.