Twin Reflex

A balcony, engaged with too old fallen leaves, windows with some broken or no glass at all, a stair with plaster cracked floor, abandoned rooftop occupied by moss— everywhere and in everything, reflects gray and dusky circles of all the depressed days and nights, and center of those circles are: me. Far away, a field mouse, repeatedly defeated with turtles; the blood falling from its body creats the sign of a red trail— for it what needed is: solitude tunnel of a box- culvert or a crop field, completely natural; or at least a safe hole to live in.