There are eight pawns, like a city. They are babies cast down the river. The knights disappear into an L-shaped darkness, two fiery preachers. Each bishop drives drunk in sideways rain. Rooks turn their collars up, muffle doubtful sighs. The one king resurrects slowly. The queen plays dead, is a stubborn ghost.

The Rules of Chess, Lindsay Daiglehttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif