Locus

Like an image that slowly comes into focus,
Like a bird brushing its beak along the grass
Like a highland river approaching the ocean
You, a memory, scattering through the locus!

Like the blue, enveloping my white
You burn yourself and make it bright.
Like a cold, clumsy, disturbed night
You, an annoying knot, tied too tight!

Like an aftermath of extreme bleeding
You lie deep, delicate decade old sting.
A cruel slumber in insomniac's dream
You, a poem, searching for its being.