Will title later. From atop my tower, I can see satellite dishes cartwheeling down.

Tayyab Ali knew all about human life. But
he could only narrate in
death. How fragile human
frames have been made.
How desperately a heart
beat requires another.
We are all clutching
someone to our chests.
Beneath the creaking
roof that would bury
us. In the debris
that comes from our
failing to understand
that there are others
habiting the same strand
of the universe. In the
debris we have given
up to. Tayyab Ali knew
that the human heart was
the actor without his lines
groping for applause.