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Seranaea Jones Nov 2020

A displacement exists,
yet specifics defy the
scope of my radar,

sensing amiss like a
fellow would perceive
an absent billfold or

the way a hen may
feel one egg less
in her nest.

A lack exists for detection,
whether it be far away
or way too close,

it's gravity pulling me
toward the last glimpse
of it before fading into black.

Not so obvious as a
matador might lose
his cape to the bull


somehow i just Know,
with question marks
drizzling about—

sweating beneath the
skeletal remains
of my umbrella...

s jones
© 2020

sorry about the note, it was a
story fragment pasted there
by mistake

— The End —