the slow rise of water

[anushka-excolo.livejournal.com]

These are the times when dawn chips itself from the edge of the world like slices of knapped flint casting reckless sparks against the sky. What is it that change means when the world stands still as ours does? Are we only running towards ourselves, fit to fling our bony souls back into bodies which will welcome us as aging twins? Listen, my love, to the stories left upon the earth. These footsteps, their confused glyphs, the way wind worries at everything until even the hills are worn away to nothing--

Anton, oh Anton, is he with you? You were a good man, I think, but were you good enough to keep his hand in yours past that flare of light? Good enough to stay with him where he wonders off the maps of things, in the hinterlands of joy so pure it feels empty as water? I would not call him back into this, this mire of words and words and words and concrete breaking under the sun and the turbines always turning on the hills. I would not call him back into fever and the empty room and the fire and the birds and their empty noise. He was birthed into that place of the bright unknown long before death took him. Children are like that, burning up with their own knowledge, the little kindling bundles of their bodies. These things I remember and accept.

One wish, Anton. Monster said: what is it you reach for, now? One wish. Would I wish for you, Anton? So long since I've thought of you, why is it my mind shores up against you now? Pack the cupboards for a long winter, you said. You lay on the sofa with your leg tied off and your trousers hardening with blood. Promise me you will eat, Anushka, you said. I said I would eat. Promise me you will not forget him, you said. I said, how could I forget what I have pulled from my own body? I said, I will not forget you, Anton. I will always remember. You said, it will be alright.

Even now, I have not forgotten. You never met a god, Anton. Anton, I am dreaming of you more and more. I am dreaming of you every night, Anton, but I cannot tell the future from the past. You said, it will be alright. I will wait for you. Are you waiting there still, Anton? Will I see you soon?

[closed]