Remembering Strangers

 the edge sleeps softly in its tremulous conceit. touching everything. feeling nothing.

worn by the distance in soiled gowns and muddy fingers.

the monster carries his face in his hands. searching for the place where he might wear it again.

in deep forests where little girls tote their heavy baskets.

his heart full of broken zippers. his voice distorted by decrepit fangs.

the distance simmers in his breath. all too eager to scald him.

the edge counts backward. from beginning to end. a curious dare.

skin places its bets. all melted candy and empty wrappers.

the monster discards his claws. and waits. for the world to change. 

unaware that it already has.