years ago, i fell into the future
with eyes closed to light i saw
a cigar box, closed, opening, and inside what
lives among the petrified remains.
since, it has crept from my mind
into my apartment. one tuesday it blocked
the door to the hall. i retreated to the kitchen
and heard it follow. when i turned around
by the oven
it had gone; only drafts rattling the blinds
on the kitchen window.
occasionally, on dark evenings, I watch it,
hovering, seemingly impossibly, in the sky
above the cityscape
between venus and the setting sun.
finn carpenter is a non-binary creature who lives in seattle, washington, with their wonderful partner and many books and plants. you might find them at their local bookstore, somewhere in the woods foraging for mushrooms, or even at @gourdparent on twitter! they are very honored that you would read their poem, and they hope you enjoy :)