Self-Portrait

Pondering the knife in my thoughts  
I scheme what rhyme chooses to be  
Leaking out from times of what was  
Twice at night and always a tease  
 
Flinching rough, sand trembles at touch  
Bundled, afraid in low roar warmth  
I understand textures of rust  
Bare hands melting, holding the torch  
 
Losing myself in tones of height  
Weightless I learned to mind the gape  
I cannot be a present light  
In someone elses shadow shape.