candle-flame
someone gasps behind
red fingers
courtly guests
hang out the window
killing time
tidals wave
without a drop of
rain or wine
on a fork
in her river slide
a few fish
below the
salt someone’s career
sounds like glass
no time to
duel with crumbs and
cutlery
tonight melts
this room in grief-light
oh not now
in spite of
tablescape I am
not my hand
finally
conscience is silent
as a plate