closure

time, they say, heals all wounds
but they neglected to say
that it must be a secret and forgotten time

the watched pot never boils
and eyes, too hopeful for redemption,
will only make it shy of appearing.

there is something magical about
a band aid
how it conceals a scrape
like a sticky eyelid,
the gauze a
planetarium sky to
the open hurt below
its roof evaporates
the yellow clouds of pus.

something works secretly
in that hidden dark
a spider akin to
the invisible weavers
of cobwebs in old unseen corners.
it bridges the gap
with finger-like legs
builds cat's cradles
that will eventually bridge and stitch
impossible chasms
into keloid landfills...

closure
demands closure.

wounds end
only long after the tears have dried
the eyes have closed in oblivion
so long
they forget to see.