Centuries turn and a feline
Will hide behind the couch before they die.
A fly borrows spaces habituated by glaring screens
To upset normal procedures
Turning over
Like insect eyes. His face
And her smile
Sought common ground
To tread the turn over
Greeting them
Like traffic noise. Together they entered the hallway
Pointed to a shoe print dominating the door’s center,
A place where nothing belongs
But grain
And imagination
And accidents. Pills won’t matter
If spaces are empty.
If interruptions represent
Conquered patterns.
These miracles are for demons
And purgatory rejects their prayers.
