It’s there that I see the flash of silver catching the early morning sun. Nearly hidden by brush and bramble. A coin. The image doesn’t connect at first. It’s something I see every day, that coin with the face rubbed off. The perfect indentation of Lenora’s thumb. Not like it’s alien to me. But it being outside. Sitting here on dead grass beside my rock. That’s what doesn’t make sense at all.
WTF Lenora
