They hug the beds. Perhaps they thought they were alien. They changed their names. For lack of life. And that made the world with shadowy footsteps followed by shadows. Broken shadows. There were screams that affirm. Necessary screams that seek beyond silence. Screams of loss. Screams like bubbling fruit. I look for you between the screams, between their names. Between those screams.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.