the unnamed day

one day a year belongs to no month. the year forgets it, and so the flat is free of being counted.

on this day i do not keep a face. i let the white be white.

nothing crosses. nothing is reflected. the wind keeps its breath.

i count the grains instead. there are fewer than last year. one of them is missing, the one i set aside when the sea went under.

when it falls, everything here will change. not yet.