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My hollow has a metal sound.
My hollow is sounding this way:
A hinged flap clangs,
tapping against its empty cylinder.
There are cinders in the tender
trap I laid yesterday
to catch a glimpse of a gleam.
The gleam leaped from a small crinkle
in the steel, and got free
before I could show it how much
I loved it.
Then, I closed my eyes.
When I close my eyes, I can see
flares of color.
Monday, it isn’t blue, it’s red,
a ruby splatter creeping
its stain of warmth to the very edge.