she said she was trusting the tea leaves
I could see that
choice after so much taken away
the mystery sometimes is all we can believe
in the hoot owl screeching beyond the pane
in the morning dove coo as if alarm
gently waking the engine prodles on to
the next stop on this long black lane
a slice like slivers or like floss or like a feather’s tough vein pointing one way
we choose another