softer

I trace the last of the day with my finger. smudge marks the horizon. every hue gets lost in transit. fades back into itself.

as muscles pull from skin, pull from bone and sinew and fat. i fall into that soft place. steady my landing catchin baloons on passing strings. we are much more silent now. i do not hold it. these fears and anger slip from tongue.

a curse is dropped in passing. i pull myself back from waving chicken bones. an archeitecture of possibility emerges from the skeleton. digging only reveals so much. brushing away to see the truth.