the sky, impaled
by crisp, black
silhouettes, bleeds yellow and white,
and the rosebush bubbles over
with blooms like bright lights, too
awake to take
cover
like cats into gutters, gutters cut
like the nape
of an envelope, its innards read
once, discarded,
and already, dark.
Brenna Courtney studies at the University of Virginia.
Eunoia Review 