A monocausal theory can’t be right,
you said. The terrace looked out to the sea.
The blue undimmed, cloud scarred, finite.
You gave me a shard of your past each night.
The stars in Peshawar. A sharp-fisted lychee.
A monocausal theory can’t be right.
The stars in Peshawar. A sharp-fisted lychee.
A monocausal theory can’t be right.
