…and I was always grasping.
picking words from the dark, from the deep, from the stars. Groping the night, every night, for the whispers that tantalize and promise and draw from me the certain sense of a sense; and I was falling.
and then the sun is in my eyes, the both of us drowning. Sinking, the sun, into the sweep of requiescat colour. Sinking, the sun, into the afterlight, as I descend into rhapsodic glints of melody. as I fall, and hear more sight than sound
i blink and find his eyes through the song. Glowing, glimmering things. like candles at the end of the world…
the world? the world, the world, the world…drown deeper.
i blink, and find myself falling through marcescent resonance
through miasmic litany, and there is a fire burning in the wash and symphony of stars; in glowing, glimmering words; in the face from which the butterflies fly with golden wings
and I am chased down, driven down, devoured by the world and
Slowly, I remember.
Swallowed beneath pale flesh, the sun shining now beneath me, I find myself staring into her eyes.
“I think you’re lost, Sam.” She says.
I am an angel in the sunset, wings spread, wings shed against the ground here amoung the mountains, sand, black tar glittering. And in the dying light I rebuild myself a pillar of salt, glimmering and hardened with the marble of a name.
And in the dying light, I know that I am blind. That I have always been blind.
“We’re all lost,” I say. The shadows of my feet creep towards her. “But I think we’ve been here before…”
She sighs. Stands still over me, and I remember the sky; the sun beneath me burning a darkening above her, though she shined on, like always. Shined with a vibrance; a steady thrumming.
I remember the stars. Bright. Brighter; the singing. There was God in the sound. I remember that the stars are singing to me.
She drops her sunglasses back over her eyes and walks away. And it is dark and dreary in the world – in the midst of that moment after dreams. The road glitters with a thousand shards of glass behind her.
And I am sightless. I lie still.
I lie on a pyre of glass in the desert night, and I remember that wordless question in the crescent wash of glowing faces and flaring pages. God is a feeling.
This is the night again. I remember it in an aria of eyes and skin.
I feel this. The wind blowing voices across my cheeks, the night pulling the quiet from my lungs to fill the desert around me. I see the stars gleaming poetry in lulling notes. Crooning, black craggy peaks far and high.
Her footsteps fading paint my heartbeat in the dark and the shining. But a sad song never dies.
The melody carries on forever, words walking time, like the horizon.
And I am here; I feel this.
I blink, and I am in the world again. I am real.
This is the end.