she stands on the balcony of death overlooking his neighbours’ lavender jacaranda carpet. he will keep gnashing his teeth in far away places in Oblivion.
but—hawks can’t snatch food where there is none and her mother no longer thinks he matters.
we have taught ourselves to ward off death in ink (how futile an exercise?). last night he must have waited for her to tell him he was bored: “i can’t be this way with you, anymore”.
they no longer think of anymore as telling, anymore.