Cloth

Darkness again. The only light. I lost my way today. Muffled sound of rain. I am searching in the shadows for the certainty of ghosts. Somebody had to die here, but why should they bother hanging around? No idea, especially as the world itself is becoming ghostly – a tentative, soon to disappear thing. Coils of white power cord on the ground. Red wine. One chair angled back from the table. My brown bag has pulled back its hair, revealing a blue flap of soft skin. It nestles into the black bag of gym gear, with its ridiculous white rope handles and cursive promotional text. Their intimacy permits no intrusion. I should leave them be, but am shocked by the visible towel – that two things should indulge in such close exchange in the midst of this terrible silence, that they should ignore the messy stacks of printed materials, that they should risk the sweet embrace of cloth. I wish them well in the midst of their uncertain future.