We all gave a great cry. We all felt the weight of failure dripping from our hands and feet. We longed to be released, we longed for resolution. We were ready to fly our bodies, meteoric, for the cause. Space could not stand against us, no atmosphere held us at bay, and we burned alive in the heat of our journey, faces lit in the flicker of our flaming limbs.
We danced a dance. We shuffled in a circle around the stone ring, hands above our heads, eyes closed, shoulders and hips in shadowy orbits. We slept in a line under the stars, finding faces in the constellations. I pointed out my brother, the bear, to the others. There was a great wolf, a bastion, a battle among the binaries, a flash of collapse that we would never see, and the death of silver at sunrise. We awoke from dreams. We spoke our dreams to life.
Air carries the reality of speech. Words are airborne war. Shock, shattered bonds, motes are bodies surfing on the tide with their arms wide out. Words are bandages, sealing wounds. Like a hand laid over the opening, like a gull’s egg in the rocky crevice, the touch of a gentle tongue against oxygen here is the balm in your Gilead, life in the doorway to death.
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