Drawing the dark

Abstract

Day and night, night after night, deep in his prayer, he deliberated whether it was possible to draw the dark without ever looking at it.He had his head in his hands.His hands covered his eyes. His breath caught onwords that tasted like ash.Day and night, night after night,he dragged his slow feet across the frozen lake of memory. It was dark always there beneath that bright layer of appearances; a darkness he trusted, the way a child trusts his mother to recognise him in the rush after the bell.