A porcelain doll perched
in her dusty hollow,
put back in the old shop she once tottered from;
set out to gain perspective,
now she's returned with a lazy eye
The empty dolls' stares glossed
over her weathered, rosy cheeks;
as she was set back into the soft-wood depression
she felt the hours tick darkly by,
back
into
circles
Newly etched lines on her glass features
were erased again beneath the collective cover;
around her the void settled back down
and swelled in coils around her heart...
...but not the heart put into her
by a lonely matron's hands:
a heart the doll assembled
from stitches of lost thread
found in an outside world
she feels tugging softly on her soul
Suddenly an energetic pulse cascaded,
and rippled slowly across her being;
an entity, hers, weaved, while away,
by the digits of a reticent ghost
who had led her from those wooden rooms
astray, across the way...
The little ghost boy has lost his toy
and doesn't know where to find her.
But draw out her heart and give her a start
and down a new path she'll wander.
A tranquil wisp
loosens a /s t i t c h/
and fear falls from her
softly
From her heart a piece unravels like fleece;
a little white glow shines forward.
The light of her ghost shines onto a post,
the sign turns her too soon shoreward.
Tears coagulate on the beaded shoreline,
crystals sprout in circles;
they sprinkle the beach with cobalt shimmer. . . .
Now diamond wings rise to slice the sky
her heart cut into ghosting pieces
set forth to fill the silence.
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