One

Particles transitioning. Movement to touch. A subtle distinction, she asserts. As her blouse falls off.

That timid mule gravity pondering the weight. Of distant gods and intimate demons. The ground she insists is always far. Just look down. You'll see.

Yellow birds in their cages. Overwhelmed with songs. Feathers scraping metal. In a huff of clipped wings. Just like the people play on their broken instruments. Useless games. Amid a thunder of songs never written.

Particles. The smallest parts of how. This bounty of skin came to exist. Weights. The moments all around us. Like starving infants.

The hunger. Stray particles. The more I feed them the more they want. The time lines collapsing. Into each other.

One brave particle. Refusing the pull.