HUSH, SORROW
He saw her crawl in through a gap in the rain:A hunched right up, welled right out figure-of-eight.
Dirty but delicate, fingerprint crazy, dark save for
Small lights that looped at her neck.
She peeled off his drywall, ate satin handfuls,
Stared at him, strengthening, sucking down time:
Rested for seconds, in space meant for hours,
All the while singing that sorrowful tune.
She left behind clothing, more than she was wearing; at
Least that's what seemed to be happening then.
He moved in towards her, cutting the distance, till
Half of a half was all that was left.
And there they met—strangers, not serious lovers—
Greeting the morning with silence and ash.
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