In their cage, The rats are burrowing through yellowed newspapers. They are tunneling to salvation. Clenched between rodent teeth, the last sheet is revealed, A jaw snaps at the corner. The light that caught their eyes was their own reflection on glass. In whispers, glass walls cage their eternity.
Human fingers run themselves along corners.
As their existence yellows, these opposable hands reveal the oppression and salvation of rats. The notion that I am their salvation wraps around my insides. Eyes glass, I reveal myself as mortal, and I, in my own cage, watch my existence yellow, and sweep myself into its corners. I cling to these walls, creep along their corners as if salvation is hidden in the yellowing trim. I am like morning frost on glass as I clasp onto the walls of my cage.