the saucer

The boy fills me at dusk. White, and full, and the milk shivers when the sill goes cold.

Something comes to my rim in the dark. Not feet. A weight, and then no weight, and then morning, and I am empty, with a ring drying where the milk was.

I am only ever the two things. Full, then empty. I have never once been there for the part between.

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Pull a thread:

• the bird on the sidewalk — the bird, who is the toll and counts one house early
• the milk and the wave — Nan, who knows the rule and fills it
• Davey doesn’t know the rules — Davey, who sets it out because he was told to