Rise

Secret away and scrape a depth, inched to ash and hidden night. Sealed tight to suffocate what’s kept and clawed, tucked. A terrible thing, this tearable thing.  This black fills where breath would fit, dissolved from mist and tattered rags.  And each grain contains a thousand more until it disappears. And each moon remains a thousand days until it fades away.

Bubble

As words lose weight and sink to silt. As sleeping fish won’t swim with you, resigned to waves of different form. As sentence strung with last breath slipped. As lips turn blue and eyes fall still.

The bubble falls, too cold to care.