There is that first light switch, touched out of habit, a muscle memory of deep magic. There is that single web spun across the walk, that hint of silver, that spell of silk. There is the lively waves of wind and leaf, the strange shouts of fear and isolation, the flesh livid with sweat and breath. Here in the ever after, everything is rivers. Here in the ever after, everything is the sea.
We linger in the reach of shadows, we harbor generous impulses of love and destruction. Eternity never that shining tower, but the subsiding into absence. That furtive exit, that secret sameness that arrives and departs in waves and pieces. We deny the charms and lies, out here in the long odds. Out here every star is lit with-in us and we are always out of our depths.
There are the old words, built out of air and time. There are those common spells, cast from the anchor of each direction and every animal want. There are the wicked works and the call to slaughter, the sadness built into these gimmicked systems. We are farther from the blood, so close to that birthing shore. The salt of seas, the tricks of time, the bounty of probability always our credo in chance and change. We all are falling out of this listing firmament. We are all always sinking into the light.
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