Midnight Calls by Frank McMahon
The spool replayed will not erase.
Hard frost can stop it dead. Or anything unbidden,
so you must step again inside those frames
and hear once more those midnight calls,
your heart imploding for you know
( the spool replayed will not erase,)
that you must pack a case, scrape ice,
find the reassurance of white lines
( for you must step again inside those frames,)
search solace in each other’s clouded silence
until you find a door unlike no other.
The spool replayed will not erase.
Enter, cross a floor of shards, breathe air
churning with what cannot be voiced.
So you must step again inside those frames.
A tunnel opens, darkness floods across your eyes,
one hand to hold, one hand to feel ahead.
The spool replayed will not erase
so you must step again inside those frames.
