archer compress night like an accordion
usher its scenery into outer wings
the lady wears her black mantilla
archer fold nightmares into paper fans
fetch fanned breezes for the mothy air
the lady day dreams.
archer lower your bow
the lady dreams leaves out of bare wood
she dreams trees for the forest where
you will have lease to shoot.
Did you feel it? Just then. We sat up straight and faced the sun. One minute later and we’re already leaning back in our gravity chair. Today tonight there was balance: dark and light. Tomorrow we begin accumulating minutes of dark, minutes like black commas erased from a worn-out page.
Owl found this. It feels like dark minutes, in the months ahead, accumulating:
The near future I commit to crow. I will scrapbook a phenomenology of crow morphology.
I’m also working on a piece of fan-fiction, a fiction by which I fan my fire for my favorite movie.
May your mind be electrified. May many small lights turn on.