In the corner of the bathroom window one morning, translucent, papery body that must have got caught in the hinge. Who knows how long it dangled, how it languished there; how long before it expired and turned the color of old ivory. In the same way, the self doesn't know when it will reach the point of that last surprise; what sound it will make as the light folds it into its mouth. Sometimes a shadow crosses your vision: fate marking you as it flies overhead. Never once do you feel its passing.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.