
At Last
He chalked the walls, plumbing it square and blued. Finished, it was a spider making to the eye. They watched movies there, remembered themselves across the atlas of synapses.
Fault
He saw her at the crumbled line of spring, the quaver-headed jonquil in their bed. She smelled of paperwhite and tan. They posted Caution to protect her beauty, signed the plot, the vows, the earth-moving machines.