foundling raze i saw something on the floor. to the unclothed eye, it looked like a small dry cell battery. anything can convince you it's useful in low light. i crouched down and picked it up. what i held between my fingers was soft. it wasn't a skinny cylinder with a carbon rod to keep its spine from wandering. it was a strip of dark rind that fell from one winter sock. dead protein sloughing off the end of an overworked limb. it curled itself into a braid of smoke too frail to call itself a plume. if spirit animals were made of wool and polyester, this foundling would be mine. 240219 what's it to you? who go blather from