Hands

Through the broken pane the greedy wind of night runs into the house. The flame, trapped, trembles draws back bends rises up and its cold sigh falls upon the mirror’s heart. In the mind of the house nameless shadows grow tall and then grow short again compressed fear withdraws only to return. Around the slender body of the flame around the trembling body two palms, two hands make a ring. A rampart of skin a rampart of nerve and a disc of light in the heart of darkness ...