Share this story
Close X
Switch to Desktop Site


Webbed on dawn grass, a filmy patch too square, too dense for a spider. I kneel, inspect to find just dew. My godlike finger sweeps off part of last night's blanket - moonspun above voices too small for me to hear. I stop. If I've hurried the collapse of starpoints, it was just part of a sky I destroyed - and what I preserved holds drops of light.

Follow Stories Like This
Get the Monitor stories you care about delivered to your inbox.