Susan Gubernat

To crack open a window shreds the spider’s work
as to smash an egg along the sharp glass rim kills possibility,
defunct already. Soon enough all will be broken.

A zipper shreds cloth I can’t hold together, teeth
placid, irrevocable. One guest leaves behind a hair fastener
and so, like cirrus, her white mane flows freely

down her back. She won’t return here to claim it.
We are all near death but speak only about the state
of our days in a world coming apart. If we say

“seamless” or “inevitable” or one such word cowards
will use to mask their horror at helplessness we join
the pack, don’t we, foregoing agency for a smug

animal nature. We choose to be prey, hollow-eyed,
unblinking, beneath a canopy of impossible stars
and a new moon that, like the old one,

phase by phase, will reveal all our hiding places.