Sunday, October 25, 2015

The World Just Over There


At night is when I bathe: when the mosquitos evade the hungry dead and their humid desire. The heat of August leaves spider webs and broken wheels in my head. I am thirsty, sweaty and the moon seems too vast and cool—so out of reach like everything.

But the Waterman stands there before me.

Upon an open hand of beveled in turquoise, scaled in sapphire, I see nothing and therefore see trackless seas, forgotten and recreated steps, callouses of rock. I understand the shadowy insights in cities aloofly populated by luxurious cats. The thoughts of mountains fold in upon lovers, and in the spring, the rains come to soak gardens full of old monuments that I have let crumble in the mutability of inconsequence.

I consider his offer.

I am no longer some morose entablature of skinny limbs and tattoos that cannot fly. In Elsewhere, the World Just Over There, these themes will progress throughout my body: blood, thick stars, and my secret name that graces a ship wrecked on the shore.

Will I find debasement in love? Revelation in the crimson torture of sunsets? Counterpoint in the tender sorrows of the earth? Perhaps.

There will be work, but promise me that I shall remember it all in the moment when I die, either here or there. Is that victory? Allow me the language of the darkness: the words that best embrace a heart made out of time.

This posting brought to you by the Hugo House 30/30 Challenge! Please drop some change in the Hugo House donation jar at First Giving.

2 comments:

  1. To support Hugo House during the 30/30 challenge, how about this? Drop >$50.00 in Ada's tip jar and I'll send you the original image that these were cropped out of.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks, David. I suppose. Nit-pickers note! Being far more of a Lunar person, I followed that calendar when I was in Japan, and so Oban fell during that month.

    ReplyDelete