Silver Calculus

The geometry of hunger hangs strung between the hydrangea’s dry heads, a map of intentions knotted in the grey morning.

Each spoke is a tightrope of tension, weighted with the heavy silver of rain, distorting the perfect radius into a sagging, liquid math.

The architect waits in the shadows, counting the vibration of drops against the ghost of a moth's wing, learning the weight of what is lost.

By noon the sun will burn the ink, leaving only the salt of the silk to mark where the cathedral stood before the sky decided to fall.