moon night
The moon, pear-shaped that night of departure, in the weeks since had stiffen...
The moon, pear-shaped that night of departure, in the weeks since had stiffened to a crisp; a shape which Jack's nails, last trimmed the night before he left, have grown to meet halfway. Two thumbs trace in series each arc of their four siblings' crowns, hands hoodie-pocketed, gaze lost downstream I-5.
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The dim patio doesn't care. Suzie doesn't care. Why should he? Such a surly night, young yet in its tousled wisps of breeze, nevertheless teases from within Jack a dull flame that stretches inexorably eastward toward what once was; and, accelerated by hope, dares to extrapolate, lapping finally upon the ravaged shores of what still could be. The night is glasslike, cool. Jack looks like a blond koala.
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