They hoarded secrets like a mist:
revealing cacti one swirled swoop
then blanket dullness
in chilly fold
Those feathered gatherings would peck
tormentor turned in briefest glimpses
piranha-like they razed to bone
then spat him out like worthless junk.
You hear the whisper –
don’t you? –
the sullen sigh of barely there?
No matter how, no matter when,
the ooze will seep