Fates and Furies

Dogs, being wordless, can only be mirrors of their humans. It’s not their fault that their people are fatally flawed.

“Whether the weather be cold, whether the weather be hot, we’ll be together whatever the weather whether we like it or not.”

Grief is for the strong, who use it as fuel for burning.

Between his skin and hers, there was the smallest of spaces, barely enough for air, for this slick of sweat now chilling. Even still, a third person, their marriage, had slid in.

He longed for something wordless and potent: what? To wear her. He imagined living in her warmth forever. People in his life had fallen away from him one by one like dominoes; every movement pinned her further so that she could not abandon him. He imagined a lifetime of screwing on the beach until they were one of those ancient pairs speed-walking in the morning, skin like lacquered walnut meat.

mooning behind her

left wreckage in its wake

Grief is for the strong, who use it as fuel for burning.

galaxy. Thread running off its spindle