Time collapses between the lips of strangers <br />my days collapse into a hollow tube <br />soon implodes against now <br />like an iron wall <br />my eyes are blocked with rubble <br />a smear of perspectives <br />blurring each horizon <br />in the breathless precision of silence <br />one word is made. <br /> <br />Once the renegade flesh was gone <br />fall air lay against my face <br />sharp and blue as a needle <br />but the rain fell through October <br />and death lay a condemnation <br />within my blood. <br /> <br />The smell of your neck in August <br />a fine gold wire bejeweling war <br />all the rest lies <br />illusive as a farmhouse <br />on the other side of a valley <br />vanishing in the afternoon. <br /> <br />Day three day four day ten <br />the seventh step <br />a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary <br />flameproofed free-paper shredded <br />in the teeth of a pillaging dog <br />never to dream of spiders <br />and when they turned the hoses upon me <br />a burst of light.<br /><br />Audre Lorde<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/never-to-dream-of-spiders/
