Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Spun Sugar

I am late
and winter is long
and the dark-faced lie
I told
is circling my brain
like a bell-hop
lost in the Taj Mahal.
Blue leaves,
the bare sky,
and everything
synonymous with nothing
awaits.
A few days
picked here and there
remind me of pink sugar
spun into cherries.
I could eat them all
but I’d rather come home
alone.