The breath spills, it seeds the shadows waiting furtively to consume the world. The breath sighs, it mingles with the wind that falls and falls. Heart beat, heart stop-- the slumbering flesh awakes in blinks and twitches. The heat that aimed to devour the day won it all, and yet it fades a little with the leaving of the light. The heat that binds us to our stillness and cooks the meat on the bone infuses ever sop with the signature of fire. Breathing easy, the shadow slowly devours it all.
It is the weariness that does not leave, the heavy heart and the staggered hand. Sunlight and swarms are all the day would offer, and that leadened tincture never left the blood. Age and misuse leave their marks, and that dead-eyed blue that never really leaves takes hold. All that is left is the rocks and the sinking, the autonomy of wreckage, that surety of the eventual slip. Work through the pain, because laying down is not an option. Keep on working because this world is all there is.
A hot dusk made all the hotter with coffee. A sore spot made all the sorer with feeling. Wings are not about to sprout, and there is no use swearing at the falling stars. The night holds back its multitudes for just another moment, this latency granted by these lasting mechanics and settled bets. The night grows slowly, spilling out from the dimming east. A bright brand of fire lays upon the horizon, cast silhouettes and shadow puppets from its flames. Another traveler settles upon a home, yet another sets out on the road. The coffee is strong and dark, and it is hot, and bitter to the taste. Sweat and dust and flies upon the front porch. The memory of something left to the moon.
No comments:
Post a Comment