Crepuscular

Schlepping down uneven cement, this woman wants to believer
nothing is following her rickety shadow. Snot tendrils
travel south over the ridge of her rouged upper-lip,
chillingly seeping into this woman's mouth—


she trips.

I do not move the maple branch strewn across the way or call
this woman's name. I merely watch as the stranger lolls
over, eroding appendages clenching for something.
Expansive jaws agape, this woman is quiet—


he feasts.

Dangling Feet

Strung above the unsteady coast, the crepe-paper clouds
ripple with a pull of thread, resembling waves...
we drift away in our clothespin bodies.

Earth is lost beneath us and we peer only skyward,
not wanting to say, "We might regret this."

The comfort lies only upon our chiffon ship
and the lasting bond laced between our tender fingers.