Fallen Ladders

absent arbiters are hardly missed.

lingering passengers in a shrinking frame of reference.

collapsing tunnels are both the disease and the cure.

timid monsters shuffle their maps. confounded by the destinations that remain unscarred.

the end is wordless as the villain's lips begin to bleed.

one more delicate snowflake in a violent storm.

we give them names because we want to know them.

we count the years because we think we can measure what is missing.

but waiting is a treacherous conceit.

and time has always been a broken metaphor.