oblivion

letters drip like melting ice into the white,
the curve, the sun, a swan asleep in snow,

a crack in glass that grows along a pane of days,
the arc, three curves of light, its fingered ridge,

a hammer drops onto a wooden floor, the dented sound,
a splintered spot that catches broken things,

the thick-sweet smell of linseed oiled paint,
a sea green spread of viscous paste that quills the brush,

the tap of E across pianoed keys, vibrations on the skin,
the hertz that corresponds precisely to the colour green,

the frequency of F that slowly spills into paprika red,
the taste of notes that thread the tongue with time,

the breath of flight, the swallow of a sleeping heart
and flying eyes that spring across the seeping night