smudged & hard to read. I think I saw the letters
something else. Nothing so extreme
like two men in black bowlers or wrought-iron lamps
side by side. Nothing like that.
Maybe a vine mutated, ivy often does after years
of rock climbing, dehydrates & withers.
Maybe railroad nails sandpapered & painted, placed
on bookshelves, separating Walker from Welty
from Woolf. The longer I try to make sense of fl the
faster it shifts. I slap it down hard, my knuckles white
falling deeper into silence until the letters lose their shape.