On One Hand

February 10, 2007

The Crossing

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 2:39 am
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I can see him there, sitting in the distant lightning-glare of the streetlamp, air around him naked black, and the skies, haunted; the clouds are low and churning hollow gray, on the threshold to burst with early spring snow. I can see his jaw clenched beneath the cold quiescence of his form, his body monolithic, draped in dark clothing, as still as the beckoning trees, shadowed eyes fixed and burning through the dusty earth. His fists are pulled in, knuckles white as resting place for his stubbled chin, effused in the apparitional tone of a broken cello captive on two low notes, humming interminably.

I am standing on the wintered lawn, grass brown and curled like burnt hair between dirty patches of wind-crust snow, gathering the night. I am far off and before him, luring the void until it lends itself to subatance. Together we are two particles, passing but never coming near, as even in the cosmos of a single atom its components are dispersed as stars are lost in space. Souls can speak, but do not touch, do not truly know each other, and between us are the ghosts of what will never be, happenstance to idealism and reality, forsaken to the singularness that comprises our selves always.


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