The mouse left droppings at the top of an open sack of flour while we lay transfixed by the foghorn’s [deep inhalation/sustained exhalation] over the sailboats bobbing in the bay.

Jet engines soar overhead, winking a cosmic descent into the angel’s dry mouth. In the unabated heat, crickets and cockroaches [mate/suffocate] between the bricks while the old bones of the place moan and sway.  

We’ll eat you someday
Someday, we say.

Niree Noel
04 11 16