The Carnival of Accidental Heroes

Basking in a carnival that never folds its tents. In this vision, dogs wear monocles and deliver telegrams scented with lavender and loss. Carousel horses snort steam, hooves tapping Morse code for vanished trees. The performers rule the shoreline, juggling flares and pocket watches. They fit harmonicas into Amazon boxes, wailing sonatas at dawn. I speak the language of fog but not mystery. Frail uncles mix secrets and sorrow in suitcases. Their nieces and nephews mend torn kites in silence, then launch them over paper ships. The coastguard floats by, sirens like lullabies, swallowed by the tide. Clowns in velvet capes hurl chess pieces at the waves. Crooked violinists sigh, remove their gloves, kiss the sea, sink below, one less sound to echo back, hello, hello.