by Jessica Grim
Collection Development & Management Librarian Oberlin College Library
Assuming an alphabet the man began to speak. The sun baked the earth. Words crawled. Obliteration was not an option. Rest in the shade a moment said the crow, offering an expanse of shade. My home points to the numbers ringing. Fractally agape. A rent in the sepulchral sky. Still speaking the man left the shade for the highway. Rush hour in the desert. All crisp. Still speaking the man starts to run. Are the tracks he leaves seen. Is the desert coming on night. The crow crosses the highway first. Binding them forward. The man follows still running. As he veers into the road the sun blinks. Telling him to cease running. To cease speaking. In increments an horizon spells. Histories’ conjugates. Novelty worn as a cape by the crow catches in the hinge as the thing slams shut. The surviving letters trickle out onto the plain. Catching themselves in a lie they weep. It’s the first rain of the season.