Gone are the days of simple, ordinary sorrow. Do you remember the embers of the campfire, glowing low, sure to fizzle? As we navigated the circuitous path, gradually finding the spot clearest on a moonless night, and you asked Who is leading us?, and I felt the tremors crumble down my narrow spine, and felt anything but assured, and called back to you, Godot! Godot! It's Godot we're following! Then I felt like moving and never standing still. The night took me up into its airborne wings, and in the winds of our slow decay I knew the meaning of at-one-ment for the briefest moment.
In that brightest glare you looked upon me as if I were a wise man from another time, (in those days) a magi wearing the rags of the shepherd. You dug your heels into the earth, and I felt your desire ripple through the blackened dirt and coal. I knew your name, and you knew mine; what could be more plain? I was the Nazarene in his shop, eyes intent upon what?, before the fiery claw of the unmoving mover clutched him and flew him to the Tree of Life where a bleating lamb sits and bellows. For heaven's sake don't move for you are fast in the fire's gaze.
What my fingers touched expired like a sigh into air.
And afterward you laughed at the scrapes on your knees. Suck me of my essence, and you answered aright, having spent your last scream. You watched me as I looked away and found the earth's center in the maturing balance of the sapling. Your body makes a beautiful figure with its speech, you said, and I blushed for the first time in my life. You laughed euphoric in the night's euphony.
And then what meteor fell to earth? Time allowed us this greenery before it sent a debtor to reclaim its debt of hours, days, weeks, months...The moon is no crescent but a scythe to reap the harvest! And in solitary places, later but not much later, I tried to envision your slow maneuvers in the voice appealing through a jukebox. Finally, in the darkened booth where the moving pictures flash before us, I saw your face on the silver surface, and near-refused to recall the emblazoned night you said you would always remember as your screen test.
In that brightest glare you looked upon me as if I were a wise man from another time, (in those days) a magi wearing the rags of the shepherd. You dug your heels into the earth, and I felt your desire ripple through the blackened dirt and coal. I knew your name, and you knew mine; what could be more plain? I was the Nazarene in his shop, eyes intent upon what?, before the fiery claw of the unmoving mover clutched him and flew him to the Tree of Life where a bleating lamb sits and bellows. For heaven's sake don't move for you are fast in the fire's gaze.
What my fingers touched expired like a sigh into air.
And then what meteor fell to earth? Time allowed us this greenery before it sent a debtor to reclaim its debt of hours, days, weeks, months...The moon is no crescent but a scythe to reap the harvest! And in solitary places, later but not much later, I tried to envision your slow maneuvers in the voice appealing through a jukebox. Finally, in the darkened booth where the moving pictures flash before us, I saw your face on the silver surface, and near-refused to recall the emblazoned night you said you would always remember as your screen test.
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