INTRUDERS When I roll Poppy onto his back, the “Requiem” comes to a close and the doors to his chambers open. The dull sound of a breeze enters from the corridors leading from the bathrooms and from the western wing; it whispers over the discarded newspapers, legal pads, and Kleenex. The wind eventually subsides, but in its place I hear the sound of small, scurrying legs. I turn around to find a large black beetle crawling up and over the floor’s rough terrain. I see it, but don’t believe I see it. I marvel at it as it stupidly shuffles away from me. It heads in the direction of the linoleum border where a fleet of planes I have yet to encase rest upside down on their wings. I slowly move away from the bed and follow the beetle’s big gleaming shell as it drags its thick bottom over the layers of crumpled paper. It scurries until it reaches one of the planes, under which it pushes its way into hiding. I crouch down to lift the plane when I notice, written on the wings, an inscription: “Take me when I fly out into the valley this morning and forgive me for my sins.
