Twists

Blue twists in on itself 
as the beginnings of a cold fill my skull. 
Dirt whisks upward, unravelling. 
Paths are swallowed, 
and my living room is quiet.  
The furthest trees stretch, 
dark and reaching.
My hair is freshly washed. 
Damply clinging to my neck. 
Night dissolves downward, 
as the light plays shyly near the ground. 
I am warm 
and alone. I’m confused.
The ground goes barren 
when I miss my mother. 
The world loosens 
and slinks to the side.
I can’t sit still. 
Blue twists in on itself.