Do fall leaves as they fall change the spin of the earth, just so?

But with words, I had spun the north arrow, spun myself into a series of mazes. Where lies the answer, if not there?

A saying comes to me, "When God gives, He slaps, yes slaps it on so thick, that His shoes are torn to shreds". Only He seems to be quite miserly with truth.

My frayed words must have arrived at your light house, perhaps wearing epaulets of an U Boat navy. Were you brave in confronting them?

My body, thus after the stripping, is bare, ready, waiting in the chamber, for the interrogator. A solitary desire is still flickering, in fear, in resignation, like an almost dead fluorescent street lamp.

Perhaps at a certain point it will sputter out. Or perhaps a child will shoot a hole through it, with a BB gun.

The past then will take its proper place. An old restaurant bill fished out of a wallet, a slip of paper with a poem written in your childish hand, a face stuck in a group photograph that becomes harder and harder to identify when sight goes first, followed on its heels by memory.

Then night will come. It will come, with that forgetting we call sleep, towards the end of every line.