And the earth quakes for its deliverance
A crack marks the ceiling;
plaster pieces, when caught,
still,
inevitably,
crumble away:
dust in the palm.
It travels from the corner,
stopping
in a lovely point
right above my head
where I lay,
hard wood panels for precious pillows.
Earth shakes,
or maybe just my soul,
for 'tis hard to say
in time like these.
Fat gray cat,
which somewhat resembles my father
licks my face to draw me up,
but I budge not,
only lie,
paralyzed by the beauties of this world.
I watch as the crack,
widening,
travels its way into my torso.
The cats ran
and left me to break in two.