I watched intently as the crow gnawed at the half-eaten apple,
the apple that still carried teeth marks and gum marks,
and marks from the ground and from the rain –
the rain that had fallen on the apple and the bird
and on you and on me and on everything outside of us.
I thought of how everything was outside of us.
I thought eventually everything must merge into a continuum of touch.
I thought I was the apple, half-eaten and lacerated –
hanging on the bird’s beak with bits dropping back into the world.
I thought you were my teeth marks.
I thought eventually the bird must finish you off by finishing me off.
I was wrong, you were the rain,
and I sit here in your wash.