Pale outline of a white tree against gradual darkness, until a blur and then no line at all. A simple wind presses a branch, a leaf. The eye encloses this much, then a string of syllables forms map language, measuring the muscle to return. And ivy graces brick, warm close to windows. Once light approaches, it begins receding. Each object in turn disappears until seen again. The quiet, then the levity, or a connection that revives this flight. One moment takes a moment. As the shore is staged to frame a tiny flight.
Sore points, prior to an aftermath, some compass to approach what shows
Sheila E. Murphy