Virus Meadow

It was late afternoon Under the wet weather swollen door Never came She pressed her knee up Underneath the wooden table As in her midriff Dread flutters like the thread of love or pain There was a bowl of fruit Shrinking on the table by a rusty spoon

Somewhere the blast furnace explodes Plumes of amber in the night sky Each explosion bounces >From horizon to horizon >From horizon... to horizon And for a while, the slow pulse boy Stood by the window And let the fire sink into his skin Again all w