Agoraphobia

Stars fall like static,
winking in the crinkled crescent eye.
“Where are you going?”
whisper washed white trunks
to the boy with swift feet.
Branches play a creaking song
to a tune of crickets playing footsie.
“What are you doing?”
question golden groups of orbs
to the boy with swift feet.
Grey clouds swirl infinitely,
dancing with the trunks of green fir.
“Why are you running?”
inquire rocking rolls of wind
to the boy with swift feet.
Another turn,
another crack,
another whip,
on a winding pathway
that doesn’t exist.
He sees it!
A mirror,
the mirror he searched for;
the escape from the open.
As splashed the feet,
as thrashed the hands,
as ashen the face went -
silence.