silver
half a dozen
round silver spheres
roll infuriatingly
across the shelves
refusing to
stay in one place
just clatter
emptily
to the floor
a single thud
and then
unheard
yet every so often
one will rattle
with
false promise
trapped within
maybe a smoke
dragon’s sperm
fertilsing
tiny embryos that
drum rhythmically against
the silver uterus lining
that aborts them
time and again
as i toss handfuls
into the parched sky
instead of
rain.
