I see broken combs, lace from a wedding dress torn into bandages. Which fork to use when all the plates are broken? Do you serve poison with your left hand or your right hand? We do want to be correct. A scrap of parchment, perhaps a message, floats down, flipping, spinning, and lands on the path. A scythe swings, harvesting the stars. A partially melted knife reflects a lavender moon. This is how to cradle the night in a shopping bag. Is the miasma tolling for thee? Bruised memory, how to sigh in fourteen languages. Habibi, let me press this moss to the sky, let me stanch the bleeding. There is some good news, the scrap of foil is not a scrap of foil, see how quietly it flaps its wings once and then flies away, it flies away.
