Mes petits,
I want to introduce you to a friend
















Two round, rosey faces turn their eyes up at me
















Sitting, huddled in the round nested chair
Shh, you may scare her
No no, don’t grab.
Yes in this box.
You like it? It’s pretty, no?
















I hand the box off to their reaching paws.
















Brush the smudge off his cheek
Yes that’s why I picked it for her.
A house, a reflection of your soul
See the bright twinkling lights upon the black lacquer
















“Lumiers?”
Oh, I mean flowers on this house.
See how they dance across the edges, down the side
Don’t knock, shhh
Fragile, douce.

Like a dancer,
An acrobatic genius.
No she couldn’t dance today for us.
Don’t ask.
















Les malheures restent toujours.
It didn’t hurt, there weren’t any tears.
A dry process, unfinished.
An easy glide until the bottom,
Tearing at the base.
Perfect today,
Perfecter tomorrow
















Gaia, Augustin : ils ouvrent la boite.



A solitary orb in infinite darkness
She lay tiny, in the corner of the box, no larger than the curl
Upon Gaia’s cheek.
A tiny morsel of what she used to be.
The acrobat, the being of precision,
Rolled corner to corner, lazily.
Sloppily. Drunk on what?
Flaws. Destruction.
Shh, mes petits. Let her rest.