empty trays
This week's poem, as always, with a touch of Aphantasia. (Plus a bonus haiku.)
perhaps memories themselves grow transparent faded through so when butlers come to pluck them from narrow shelves they return with cool, empty trays
Hugin and Munin are now not “on speaking terms” I wander to and fro
Thank you for reading. Here’s another poem.
My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make a different kind of sense.
Please share this with any aphants you might have in your life. I am highly curious to know if any of this resonates with others whose mind’s eyes are dark.
—Alex
Glimpses at the Dark can be delivered every week.




Omg i love this haiku so much 🐦⬛🐦⬛