Nebulous Vertigo

By | 8 June 2020

It is one of the days that I sit
here like an abyss.

The sky, soft and introspective, my mind
opens a gap that opens
another gap

that is not simply air, but a circling coolness when shame
jars the air. She doesn’t blame.
She sits at an edge that polishes

lights. Much white.
She grabs two eggs, crushes one, drops
the other, saying:

“to be exposed is to be real.”
I tell her that I really miss him.
A sight jumps to another sight in the mirror,

with a flick of impromptu
She presses the button, and now in the blender

the whole morning is wrung. Force,
akin to clouds, giant and mesmerizing. It invents
trajectories, and precipitates nothing

but itself. “Hear an egret?” Where?
“It screams but you can’t see—”

That warp of milk, a nebulous vertigo.
Finality, serene after the last squawk, checking
each feather of the egret.

The ending, turned inside out,
smooth and silky. I dare not climb
over it.

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