They appear in moments of silence
in the maddening tick
of another dim day
a small pebble in your shoe
brings an assassination
a firing squad
a hanging
monsters under the bed
want you dead
rotting among the ruins of other men
among the debris in your ribcage
in the crumble of decaying lives
to replace you would be victory
so you open the windows at night
sleep on a small stone set to music
in the house where you live your life fiercely
among assassins
among angels
among monsters
among milestones
among fragments that become small gifts
like apples
like sleep
like carbon.