Dark around its edges mirror at the heart. War has gone quiet. Cheap theatre smell, rooms settle and hiss. What is he doing. Sleep, its hours pleat together and close like a fan, what does she know.
Waters move slightly or do they.
Vanishes out of the marriage, into the marriage. Troy vanishes too, murmuring, stain is a puzzle you do not want the answer to. Every war needs one. Carson Copyright Boston Review , 1993-2000. All rights reserved.