Miscarriage/Failed Blastula #1

Are the rumors true?

Yes. This quiet ossifieslong before the bonesmake way.

Yolk and amnionpart wordlessly.

Here lies the tailcurling back the century.

Can you describe the scene, just before it ended?

Like a zigzag splittingthe city's old brick,a flattened stair-step.

This was my only edge.

Was anyone else with you at the time?

Though moongate was shutI heard rustling over the wall.

Didn't you want to be an architect?

Is that a kind of person?

Yes. I'm sorry. I don't know what made me ask.

I've heard that sound before.But definition escapes me.

You mentioned a gate. Where did it lead you?

I'm not allowed to say.

Well, are you still there now?

By the time you hear this,the boy countingdays on his fingers

forgets he was a boy at all.His sky is wherethe parachute unblooms.

The gores tuck back. A staticline spools.

So you are erased?

A pink round of cells,I wheel past and forward.

But there's no word to fill your space.

In ancient times,questions weren't markedwith hook and eye

but with two dots hovering:In music, as you know,this also means: rest.

Who taught you that?

I suppose I was unborn knowing it.

How will I bear this?

Like a swimmer strokingthe current, the air giveswhere you slip through it.

Your grief the hairfloating behind you.

What should I look for now?

It's not a place your hand can hold.Turn left at the first sign of heat.

Where the brick gives way to moss, lie down.

And the others? Are they far away?

Not so far.

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