the bookmark lay still on the floor,
a corpse unmoved by the scene.
Night dragged in like a dead wolf
in the hands of a tired hunter,
The carcass smothered my light
and brought death to the last of the day.
Now the garden fades into shadow and
the apple tree sulks,
lashed by acid winter rain
that bites at the soil, gnawing at its soft
and gentle countenance.
The heating kicked in and I sat up, blinking,
clutching a detective novel,
the bookmark lay still on the floor,
a corpse unmoved by the scene.
I made a cup of tea
in time for bed,
but behind me in the night
the dead wolf prowled
with hungry eyes,
walked around my house
in circles,
waiting for the light.
illustrations by Knysh Ksenya