This is How You Lose the Time War

by Amal El-Mohtar

Icicles drip and snap as the great trees fall, and felled, the trees leave gaps in green that bare the cold white sky.

the kind of London other Londons dream: sepia tinted, skies strung with dirigibles, the viciousness of empire acknowledged only as a rosy backdrop glow redolent of spice and petalled sugar. Mannered

every evening I see a red sky bleed over blue water and think of us. Have you ever watched this kind of sunset? The colours don’t blend: the redder the sky the bluer the water, as we tilt away from the sun.

Summer settles like a bee on clover—golden, busy, here then gone.

She wants there to be a God, so she can curse Her.