He is a white collar with the barest stain even Oxycline can’t erase
The cross he wears on a leather cord is a warning,
subtle like the faint smell of milk before it sours..
A scarlet apple with a small bruise. How far does the decay go?
A bit of mold on cheese, easily sliced away?
No, he’s lhe afternoon shadow dappling meadows
which soon will swallow all the light.
