Negation

the purple sheath on mountain crests it is not dawn

the stench of six day old fish it is not rot

the click of teeth and claw on wood it is not mice

the crush of fragments at my feet it is not glass

the mark of black and mottled blue it is not a scar

the crimson taint upon my collar it is not blood

this limb, broken through the pane it is not an arm

the thin reflection in the window it is not me

i am not here i must not stay

the fog dividing there from here it is not my breath

the trickle of water, tapping at my throat it is not tears

the crack in the wall, opening beyond it is not a door

the void that panics in my breast it is not love

the final flash on evening snow it is not hope

the sigh that soothes all dissent it is not your business

everything is fine i am fine

the purple sheath on mountain crests it is not dusk