Below the mist, I lay on wet soil among the rubble and ruin of past selves. Crisp outlines of shadows
dance with the fall leaves and cascade into the still lake beside me. A scuttle of creatures, the movement of stones, as they scurry to the water’s edge to drink or clean bloody claws.
I am waiting for the moon to rise, to peak out between the mountain scape so I can join the owls and other night animals in their hunt for fresh flesh. Once, I lived in a city, now I’m just another thing gnawing on bones. What am I?
