The Signs of Unwellness

The voice was a mix of desperation and the remnants of sleep, as if he were still sifting what he did from what he dreamed. Ava's bus would be arriving at her school just a couple of blocks away. I imagined that she was walking on the gray pavement scattered with lantern fly corpses directly above me. When everything is poetry, I know I am unwell. The advent of new senses is a sign.