Wearing the Rain

when. like numbers in chalk. stalled bridges across the corruption of want. an arbitrary ceiling in the immaculate infinity of how far. it's just footsteps and gravel she thought. the arduous pace of the wind. a thief with broken claws. and lingering wounds.

a soft siren. the insistent scholars of flesh and bone. bartering with the ache of blood.

so we are consumed by the distance. unfortunate patrons of a very particular war.

the monsters are calm. the heroes all, but defeated. such is the nature of progress. teakettles and candy. as if we are still alive.

the frail alchemy of withered thieves. in their foul pace. in the shallow incline. in the gaunt mathematics. as if there is any meat left to steal from this carcass.

such is the hunt long after everything is dead.