Aught, no. 4 (2000)

Jonathan Monroe


Wobbling free, the planet budged from its trajectory, impossible geometries came in threes. Two zones for markers, one repair. Any departure's a common good. The way home stifled him. Stuck again, and hard to breathe. A "childlike innocence" prevailed. The neighbors loved it when he said goodbye.


Found and not to see again. Everyone's relatives. Ever the absolutes and still. No one would claim. What was it said? "He broke the rules." Unmannequin-like the weather's sleeves. Unworldly motions, scrapped intransigence, settled summer's crackling storms. One measure of knowing-who'll count the bones.


"What could be worse?" And closed his eyes. That was the signal: "Start again." A new life beckoned. There where the gulls fly, forgetting themselves as scenery, searching for food. "Enough to stop a wave, fist first." Or stub his toe on broken shells. One wave recurring. The style of a voice within its curve. If ever a silence was to move.

Copyright 2000, by the author. All rights reserved.
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