She sits at the typewriter
By the big window
Fingers poised lightly on the keys
The distance filling up her eyes

For hours thoughts cycle
Like seasons made up of
Burn and snow as if August and
February took twelve months

She takes the gaze inwards
Catches her reflection
In the glass, then
Out they pour

it must have been a dream it must have been a nightmare i did not think i was asleep but i could not see i could not feel i could not feel the things i touched and did not know whom i was did not know what my name was did not know if i was woman or man there were times i thought i had woken up there were others i could not think i wanted to wake up could not think what was not to wake so i could do the opposite something was passing i knew that much but could not think it was time could not think it was night or day then i knew something was it was rain passing at an angle into the hissing hearth passing at my legs beating past the open hinges again and again like muslin flapping across my naked legs


A woman made this film:
Against the
Law of Clarity


  1. Tenderly expressed, Vera
    i like this very much

    A big hug


    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ah, John, this is so special. Thank you, thank you.


  2. So purely creative… love this!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. 🙂 So purely pleasing… your comment


  3. Good LORD, beautiful Vera!!! That felt amazing. Like a Soul sliding through many lifetimes impossibly trying to recap. You brought tears to my eyes. Amazing. I need to learn new adjectives. Thank You, Thank You, Thank You. 💖❤️💖

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You don’t have to learn new adjectives; you’ve got the most wonderful way of describing your feelings. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      1. ❤️ Thank You, Vera. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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