. . . .

Something initiates a circular way, by night, despite what crawls through the ears of the room to sound out the darkness. A heavy scroll of mist that is heard from behind painted partitions; bare musculature of litany watched from a standing position — I’d rather be lying lungs exposed;

seen / interred, incense / talon, tablet / legion;

this warm scrying intention lapped by the silent rotting of flowers.

Pressed by the kind of light that wraps around corners and that cannot be stopped by mass, these barely touched nights disclosing their hours.