In the dead of dark, a closed mind.

A man bottled his shadow:
a shadow hunter
in gothic space.
In the jar
under seige
a shadow moves
caged openness,
out of mortal control.
The jar breaks
a clink in the armour
the disquiet that lingers
clings to the glass:
across the room
an eye in the mirror
on reflection
looks on
the lid turning.