Three short pieces, "Memoir," "Curse" and "Oblivion," share a quiet, uneasy mood, built from small images rather than big statements. In "Memoir," the speaker watches leaves scatter and a pink sky while a "you" drifts in and out of their mind. The spacing of the lines mimics that drifting. A crow pecking at the window feels like a memory or longing that won't leave them alone.
"Curse" darkens the tone. The night has no stars, a bitch moans in childbirth on the street, and the speaker's dreams are "charred" by a fear they can't name. That last line, set apart, leaves the dread hanging.
"Oblivion" is the sparest. Night thickens, nothing stirs, and a snake slips back into the undergrowth. Together the pieces suggest a speaker alone at night, haunted by absence and unease, with nothing resolved and nothing explained.