Black Cloud

All of their belongings were suspended from the ceiling.

It was sweeter, looking upward at necessary things:

sunglasses, a coffee mug, electric razors and

regular razors and unused candle holders shaped like lily pads.

So these two sweet bone-yards looked up at their world.

The dander was quiet and thick, not damp,

not dry, but vaguely warm in that once-human way.

It collected in the corners of the boxcar and

like a little chorus:

“You have to cross the great expanse and trim yourselves.

There are two separate, warmer places. I’ve made this suffering

just for you.”