“cursor is Latin: not one who curses
…but one who runs” ~ D. Bonta
And after the floodwaters receded, a few steps away
from the fountain of the oldest university on the other
side of the world, a giant catfish was found: its rough-
sleek back the color of slate, its bloodied whiskers
stiffening as the sun returned. There was no
sign of the dove coming back with a flag of green,
no olive branches spreading their arms in the middle
of a field. From windows of makeshift shelters,
the stricken looked out upon the city’s mud-
slicked streets. Like odd-shaped pieces of bread,
roofs of houses float upon the waters. The heads
of the gathered are too many to count.
In response to Via Negativa: Cursor.