Zelda Chappel

Misadventure (2014)

Certainty comes clean-edged

in the half-script of Tuesday morning

This is how it is.

Whispering, white spaces could tell us nothing
without decoding

but now we know

how they mistook a step
for a jump
watched the air fail to catch their breaths
and leave them shred, scattered
star-like constellations
on salted granite

When they spoke of misadventure
I doubt this was what they meant.

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