Among the Musk Ox People by Mary Ruefle

The Figment

Outside the coffee shop the first snow
is flying, but downwards, not like anything
is supposed to fly.
I shoot something.
It drops with the first arrow.
What have I shot?
I have passed the life span
of a lion.
I have lied and lied:
for instance, no moment
ever chiseled me.
I am walking aimlessly
to the post office
with no way of knowing
someone has taken off
the bronze hands of an old clock
and mailed them there.

Day 18: #TheSealeyChallenge