The Shapes We Make

The horizon splits the sunrise and our expressions, uncovered, have to remake themselves. He’s driving, I’m staring. Towards the brightening edge of nothing. Above us, a speckling black arrowhead of geese. How do they decide, I wonder, which of them should hold the wounding position, the tip? They soften into a diving dolphin snout; the hierarchy disintegrates. Daylight thrusts a microphone into our faces.

“How goes it, driver?” I say, having exhausted the interior possibilities at journey’s start: the CDs, his comfort, the now empty back seat.

He rubs an eye, his throat twitches. The birds construct a bear’s jaw, yawning around a tiny pink cloud.

“She’ll be fine,” I say, as the cloud is swallowed.

“We should have taken more of her books,” he says.

“Soon,” I say. “Next visit.”

Read more...

© 2023 by EDUARD MILLER. Proudly created with Wix.com

  • w-facebook
  • Twitter Clean
  • w-youtube
This site was designed with the
.com
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now