Measure

— Robin Walter

I don’t even know which grief
it was I felt swell in my fingertips
when I sent the broken
blue shell ricocheting

down the small stream—beauty
mixed with
terror mixed with
nothing—

I wanted to tell you last night I woke
in a panic to an alarm
sounding—I searched
the dark bedroom for its whine—

ran my hands through sweat-
slicked sheets & across the cold
length of floor before
I realized it was a cricket

outside my window
pulling a thread
through night
into sky—


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