with it’s cooling flow.
The trees are swaying,
but my windows
are closed,
as are the doors
and the cracks
underneath.
Only light enters
smelling of heat —
sweet wet perfumed
air – impossible
to breathe.
I am a captive
in the catacombs
with no
Amontillado
to drink…..
waiting for winter
which will last
only one week.
October 2018
“My heart grew sick – on account of the dampness of the catacombs.”
Edgar Allen Poe. In “The Cask of Amontillado”
