a tremor had assured less
I swept the floor, this last time.
More miracles would be played out elsewhere, only as theater. Those heaven-bound can not cast their will towards our sweet eyes if for no other reason than a sense of fairness, at last. At last. Sickness is coming, though, as a tremor had assured less. Wait for the false remedy.
Remember the real acts of supernatural creation you saw here: old organs becoming new, love allowed for one more day. Just one more.
And the lights go out.
Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved
