Our wings thin and gray like a starving
crow’s. We fly over oceans until
we find where the water stops on all
sides, and pours downward into black-
ness. You say you see a firefly
at the bottom of the hole as your finger
and thumb warp around my wrist,
a bracelet of bone. Slipping past worlds,
you claw for the green buzzing in front
of us. You drag me behind as you fall,
leaving me to witness you fading
away like erased graphite.
Donald Paris graduated from Queens University of Charlotte’s Creative Writing MFA program. His work has appeared in The Other Journal, Sonic Boom, and Public Pool. He can be followed on Twitter @DonaldParis or found podcasting, blogging, and being a goof at rickanddon.com.