Life and a Husband

in the folded recesses
of my braids and silk
dresses the weight of

the damp belongs.
it stresses their fibers
as the lamplight

fires
flick

steam at
the pale, white dawn.

but stuck in the air,
the damp lingers
there till it sickly
caresses the page of
a warped, old book
and my hands as they
shook in the grip of
a spirit or age.

rising
to stand, the
mist blesses our
trist and the life for
which you still long.

in a cage forged of
tresses,          my kept
heart                  confesses it
will                        sing, but only
sad                        songs.