A crow caws at my dawn remembering a picture of absence, a woman gone to wall for decorating a living room. A crow on the wall cannot be mom to eat rice. Our images cannot eat rice in words. Images cannot eat rice, only words.
We have another image of ourselves , fleshed out of my bones , poor nightly creature of fluorescence roaming the empty wastes of mind. We have other men with rolled shirts staring from ancient space, not yet knowing my own coming, that meant his own going from all space in time.There was space only for one of us.
All our images are shadows from past that are cast on our space even after real things are gone except inside sleep.