P.C. Walker

Can you see this child standing

with his arms like boards to the sky

and fingers twitching for one inch closer?

Can you hear the excruciating cry

from the bottom of his empty well,

echoing into a sheet of filled-in stars?

Can you feel the never-ending waterfall

flowing from his eyes

to the dusty tile?

Can you sense his clinching

pain for a parent escorted out the door by

a figure named obscurity?