A faint mist of vaporous emotion wettens the eyes
The surface shudders as sublayers are drawn
never looking more fragile,
A titan of warmth and strength.
leaving deformed shelter and drenched disappointment.

Too many, too close.
unexpected diabolus ex machina.
drawing the eldritch sigil that’s come to mean “sleep”.

Plunging to the bottom like a doomed plane
But their ghosts remain with us, fragments of plot or detail,
lost opportunities.