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.