The Sisters of the Broken Candle

covered every window in the house with x-rays of my bandaged eye.

“working backwards from the sky” says she follows every fissure until it’s
time for the stiches to come out. When something falls you should pick it
up.

“spilled sand and lamplight” has been my sister for a while now.

They say we are slivered glass. Fluttered numbers and milk. Flickers
sutured in skin.

They tried to convince me that half the word filament is night. Every
rattled out lightbulb means a brother’s pillow is burning.

We all watch the clock. Eyes running out of aluminum.