Living / Dying

Mark McCambridge, Chris W. Ryan

I watched a Friesian cow look up toward the sky with nothing much reflected in her eye

Some days I catch the moon hung lonely in the south
Some days I catch it slowly flicker out, thinking: If this is to be the last time I bathe in soft silver light then I'm satisfied

I found a pathway through the untethered kite, floating through the debris of dead satellites (to the galaxies they try to contaminate by shouting his name out into space)

Now I can't shake the feeling that every movеment I make is mirrored on somе distant planet

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