Toes are stubbed on the mysteries of guess floor strewn mess, bed legs and chairs. A search through rooms to find the tools for vision becomes eddies of jerk and terror. Fingers trace shapes to give them names and the possibilities confuse. Cold and cold. Black has howl carved into it an accident waiting as hands braille walls. The table tests, our last drinks before you left knock the spill if matches were there, they’re wet. Silence is hunched, the switches off. Stars are pitched. Finger fumble, toe crawl across memory used as car lights for direction, sweep places for…