In my innermost thoughts
numbed hands are labouring
               coffins into a vertical night,
a machine measures the strength of fear,
               follows the white,
rising, light-giddy force
as it runs through the lungs’ blood vessels
               right into
the salty taste of the nightmare,
that is how I proceed
like a drunkard
               with a mindless smile creasing my face,
it is
               the small absences,
their contents
               unfolded to sun-ray pain.