Like what fills
the center of the fossil egg,
word or the crimson bud wormed black.
Repetition lends force to lies but can’t create truth.
The halogen bulb remains dark without electricity
even in the light of day.
But how to enter that space?
The yolk hardened to stone.
A man’s forgotten name.
The unmentioned flower.
Every day looming in possibility.
Fossil Egg first appeared in September 2019 at Recenter Press. Many thanks to the editors for taking these pieces.