Deer appear at the edges.
Our dog is burning, so you cut off
her legs.
She dances madly in the field
while I am alone with her murderer. I nod
and nod. The ice complains all night.
You say everyone is apart
from at least one child. One that we were
or one that we want. And the day
gives in and gives in.
Falling twin stars open their hands,
stumble into some building.
Perhaps, Night,
you didn't need them anymore?
Or let me put it this way:
the moon awakens with empty hands,
her legs rattle.
- Sarah Vap
