Trumpets

The sun sets. I don't notice. It's dark again. The day is over. The champagne bottle waits for a reason to explode. The scale struggles to balance. While we stand on our tiptoes. Pretending we can see through the glass. Imagining those monsters in our hands. Ambitious dominoes. More than ready to fall.

The game obeys. The rules will bend. For stubborn strangers. The puzzle will assemble. All on its own. Gods in their dirty aprons. Waiting for the yeast to rise. The dough quivering under her stare. These closets. Like forgotten friends. Who remember too much.

I see her there. In her billowing sundress. An accusation. A pocket of light absorbed by the darkness. Small things. To covet. These small things. So much bigger than I remember.