030/365

Thick wet drops plop on the glass
The clouds have come out at last
Ready to play
Dusk arrives red
Also ready
Detective is the game
Misty miasma follows steam showers
And they play for hours

A small place below
Across a dusty window
A shy fireplace flame fails to tame its light and heat
Fails to leave the dark alone this time
Fails to let it be
Inability to stop defining shapes and figures
A detective at heart
Together with dusk and the clouds
Too generous handing out disfigured outlines of lust
In their hunt for truth

Parallel oval prints in the dust against the window
And the flame has become fixated
Mesmerized by the delicate handprint
Top right
With knuckles for a wrist
Two round neighbors downstairs
Below them, a spread out hand
Fingers aimed down with no wrist

Clouds spread their rain mist
To reveal the hidden bits
The flame clearly missed

Shoulders with arms raised high
A disfigured frizzy head
Starts over the shoulders
Ends waist high

The clouds clear out
For Dusk to come in
And combines the last two things
With his dim bright genius
And understanding of perspective
He finds the last clues
The better of all three detectives

Two parallel palms
Low on the glass
Fingerless fingertips

Morning outshines the fire’s simple light
The sun dismisses dusk and the clouds
The evidence is lost and the case never solved
But conclusion were reached based on what they found

Nobody feels like anyone lost