sunday wind chimes
If I stand still long enough, the wind will blow a hole through me. Each finite existence contains a compromised center.
This ghost town, too, has stood still long enough for the sun to shine a hole through a compromised center.
I leave an empty wine bottle on the steps of an abandoned church. I could only believe in a God that had enough sense to leave before the people did.
I need to find a coat. Before the shadows come in.