A Water Glass

sobriety, quiet and luminous,
suits me better, the grizzling
coat of a hound soaked in
bathwater and riverbrine, a set
of pockmark antlers flush above
the bathroom door. there is no
silver held in your restful meadow,
it drifts above the weatherline,
the clouds whose drooping bellies
are needled by septic towers
muttering binary code.

Adam Hales is a writer living in Richmond, Virginia. He is an occasional contributor to Spellabee Space, and his work has been featured in Arcadia University’s Minotaur’s Spotlight.

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