Cloaked in a fold of yellowing mist


he was very good at hiding his feelings. 


Anyone could have foretold black wings at dawn; 


you don’t need tricked-out eyes in your head to see that. 


Some of the women say they are sick of struggling 


with the sea. 


Who can blame them? A girl can weep sour tears into her hands 


for only so long. 


Now A. says we were never married. 


My hands go bone-dry. 


Despite the certainty that always accompanies an e-minor descent, 


I wasn’t expecting things to unfold so literally.