[ fragment 3 ] by sean s

after First by Michelle Naka Pierce

It was a hypothesis first.
Who said the loss was a result of

knowing what was, once impossible?
Thus the loss came with the possible.
The wind picking up speed, gusting

against the glass panes above the creek.
We do not know who. Perhaps one

washed clean from the rain. One
a certainty, an acute angle, a bond. A
squall of raindrops cut through by

a tentative suggestion. An absence
(caused) by this appearance. A callous wood floor

reaching, kicking through the window. A
hypostasis of the loss, our possibility, our
forgotten necessarily not, the wind

picking up snow from the north.