Clouds cut through the Charlotte skyline like a knife.
I make my home here,
Oh! dissonant moisture–
the skies over my home are clear
The cerulean is patchwork through the emptying branches of the elm
but bearing down on the roads twenty miles out,
I am engulfed. Ahead is a star-field of red shift,
as if with a click whiteness fills the spaces.
Stopped, I look over a sea of angry eyes
not waiting or wanting.