field, morning, no wind
The camera does not move for forty-one seconds. A single daisy. Somewhere off-frame, a kettle.
The camera does not move for forty-one seconds. A single daisy. Somewhere off-frame, a kettle.
Between the weather and the fishing report. The flower trembled. The tape remembers it trembling.
she did not return that summer.
Shot through a window. The daisy is a reflection. So is the cameraman, faintly, holding still.
The orange ran. Nobody fixed it. It became the color of the broadcast.
A clean print, almost. Almost is the most we have. The hum is on the tape. Leave it.
the second of waiting is the broadcast.
Each copy lost a little green. By the fourth, the leaves were the only thing still alive.
They practiced ending the broadcast. The daisy was the last thing on screen each time.