"Vainly he sought, by tracing life backward in memory,
to reproduce the moment of his sin...." - Ambrose Bierce, "The Death of Halpin Frayser"
(1893)
I observe it December-pale, its voice just above a whisper. I may want it back--rust and all-- but for now, I hope to hear it gasp, to slash its pockets empty, to sprinkle its mouth with salt.