My sidereal visitor... Have you become my clock?

Can't describe the awfulness for the wordless language I try to ignore. This catch in my throat grows I don't know why — I know. Don't want to know: knowing is itself a wall, the catch.

Sometimes, times like this, I think I'm caught again.

I ask, What is it that holds so tight? And an answer comes quickly to fill the old vacancy. Maybe now it's not buried so deep. Enough of the intellectual strata sloughed away and the truth speaks easily through what's left.

The answer is not good enough, I suppose.

Wish I had for giving what is needed to hear it.

It blasts forth anyway, through eyes, nose and even that stranglehold in the neck.

It's too much just now, even for my defenses.

Writing would help. Hours by the window in the dark.

I'm out of time though. Have to put it all back on like dressing for winter, so when they see me I'll look trimmed and put together.