Stars split the night like tiny bead work scattered

upon the tabletop.

Dark pines shift and breathe summoning curiosity.

Cracked cobblestone shines beneath broken moon.

Behind the cabin in the stream, salmon slip and scatter to the breeding summit only to shatter.

The snowy quartz owl sighs and boughs her head nodding, knowing.

Tucked up in a corner in her favourite rocking chair grandmother says,

"Where's Don?"

I say, "Oh he's around the corner chopping wood."

But he wasn't.

Upon rotting plank, lie Don with a crystal chill to his face...