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...he slots across the top of the coop begin to burn with the day.
You have your precious watch.
Fingering the roundness of the case, you trigger the catch. The lid opens. There is the fading picture of her. You remember Budapest in springtime, linden greening along the avenues, and the house, her father's house. Before the first mad war.
But you are not that man that loved her -- You, who hide from the sun!
The admission is like daybreak in your mind. Were this woman alive -- and close enough to feel your breath on her face -- she would be meat. You fist your hand around the ticking memory, because otherwise you might smash it on the dung-smeared floor.
Snatching one cooing pigeon from its ledge, you stop yourself immediately making a snack of its life: holding its neck between thumb and fore-finger with pressure only sufficient enough to keep it still.
Free to come and go as you please.
You have your precious watch.
Fingering the roundness of the case, you trigger the catch. The lid opens. There is the fading picture of her. You remember Budapest in springtime, linden greening along the avenues, and the house, her father's house. Before the first mad war.
But you are not that man that loved her -- You, who hide from the sun!
The admission is like daybreak in your mind. Were this woman alive -- and close enough to feel your breath on her face -- she would be meat. You fist your hand around the ticking memory, because otherwise you might smash it on the dung-smeared floor.
Snatching one cooing pigeon from its ledge, you stop yourself immediately making a snack of its life: holding its neck between thumb and fore-finger with pressure only sufficient enough to keep it still.
Free to come and go as you please.
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