cars pass each other slowly over the
arc of main street to
night. past the
dewing front
lawn their headlamps seem to
entrance the pair of flames enough that they dance in tandem a moment. here in the drab
living room that grays eventually into the murky obsidian of night. but for the flames
identically flicker-floating as they do, unlike the lazy automobiles, they dance. in the
gloomy room, where four children are lined up along the
hi-fi, extra-long stereo, upon which each child’s elbows rest, in
this room where nothing ever happens except homework and dreaming. each kid’s pair
of gleaming eyes honed at that dull arc; behind each lid brains bubble, eager
to be taken away in whichever direction.
