Nothing Major to Report

Only temporary peril—another Thursday.

Blood remains primarily

inside my body. The scream of

the animal is for attention.

Abruptly my shadow reminds

me I am human, in the room,

though the darkness I make

on the walls could be mistaken for storm.

The coulisses of trees endure,

despite my failures to see them

as more than symbol.

The gray seems personal.

The news, sempiternal.

I am of and in an uncertain age.

A coolness descends. The future.