Untitled

I watched a slow fly,
dying, tie-toeing over
Daniel's Xbox controller.

It made me think of winter, when
everything is stilling, distilling.

Now is a soft, thin time.
I am not even a shadow
angled and black on the ground.
I am Without.

reading letters not addressed to me.

Little papers, 

folded, unfolded:

my mother 

signaling

from behind

a translucent screen.