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twilit embers

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  • twilit embers

    And in the icy winds of frozen Arctic winter, the sub-zero temperatures keep everything still. The light in the sky is yellow, and the ice down below is blue, cliffed in that pose, rock strewn like grey bodies ossified. Movement scarce,-- a star might brighten in the dark distance, burning light, and it might make such a notice. And then burn out.
    Out here your memory grabs hold of you, and you become that loneliness you feel, it invades the light, infects the hosts of life, and dwindles little by little their ability, what they are, it takes away because it cannot give.
    Stuck in a glass like this, I think of the way that sun hits metal: and with every grain of mirror, and sky, and earth, and with all the seeds, and wood, and treetops hanging, I think, what is death in the earth I can't find an end of?
    Shall I suffer myself with frozen blades cutting diamonds from the ice? Shall I worry to work over the puzzle once again that is my life? I remember sunsets and bathtub laughter, and full glasses of iced tea sweating and thirsty. Touch everything, and be; I am the glow in the East of fire that is vegetable, and lives only in vein-like marching lines ... I haul the sky up, my ears perk, and I listen.
    The shrill silence burns at me. I am wafted away though my core is centered without moving. I am beyond those yellow skies, inside the earth materialized, passion eloquence and my witnessing Proof there is More.
    My eyes burn. The world burns a candle to a memory. I am libations on cold dry earth, and snakes moving under the water. I am taunt, recovery, a serpent game of tongues lashing, and spit, wild; wrong turns, death rolls.
    And I stand behind this silvered glass. And all I have is memory of how on the other side of the glass there is void, dark, and yet beyond that there is a mirror universe, with an opposite me, looking to me from another here.
    I don't understand anything, fallen in love with yellow skies, yellow falling flowers; lies that don't matter cannot hurt any more. I take the path I've always taken.
    I can only be this, and it still hurts, locked doors and freedom. The freedom, though, is supreme.
    Even if that means my sovereignty lies splayed across this barren earth, like quiet death incomprehensible I search the face of until the face and I change together.
    It hurts the idea of no one there. It's palpable that no one sees you. Looking for the way through... there are the woods and each footstep, each fallen branch, looked at like that; but nothing lives here yet.
    And here the blue and white go together to form a shield of impenetrable sky, and there's nothing else, nothing beyond, I realize my thoughts haunting the sky are all that's left of me, maybe harpies or bats, in love with dusk.
    And the vegetable taste of little knowing. My eyes close, and I rest complete in my awareness and lack.