Trace-Event, Day 12

Karla Kelsey

As across the street light forms hang in trees, branches bare and scaled and remaining leaves caught in the frost and curling, lung forms hang inside of us and the heater buzzes and a bird calls so long and so forth. We are known by these things like a painted aviary or the inside of this shedding

light, the easy disaster come forth to weep and so to seed the fallow land. But as the early morning sun and wind whisk the curtains with cold, what becomes important is that these are our hands, our handled areas of light, patterning this, gleaned through the coats of mellowed gold and silvers

or the paths they make in the sky or on the canvas given up to a likening rendered in paint and stillness, the easy disaster pictured as a stranger, there, standing so lean and so cool to the touch as we concentrate on the bus stop framed by the window and the streetlights click off into another variation of dawning