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Now I’ll tell you what really happened. The snap of twig that gave away the approach, hands over the eyes. “Guess who?” Then music from a mysterious source, a blanket on the ground. A basket full of food. An idea to transform the lakes into a new residue. Ankles tripping, full moon, mountains as a background, a sky bruised purple-black. Hands that stripped bark, built a small smokey fire. Worn skin, and then the music again. Distant pipes hollering through dormant valleys. Stillness interrupted, wind and rain. A thunderclap. A decision stalled. Groves of galvanized grief as these molecules mock the empty places. Birds sleep on branches overhead, unseen. A cold fever beading on the upper lip. Glamorous aches, peeled fruit, photographs bent and bleeding false color. Unreflected spectrums and solace calling. Full disclosure in the books I am failing to finish. Tattoos and dirty clothes like a flag you fly half mast. A new declaration of what will be traded. Minor moments, rebellious ruins building themselves over one brick at a time. Twist the visions with you own precision. The accuracy of history drawn like a long line across an unread palm.
