Wednesday, January 2, 2008


I am shattered into thousands of pieces, scattered across a dark and despairing lake.

My ghost is tearing through the damp and thick brush- illuminated in moonlight, I scramble and pant my way through the edges of the wild. Brambles and dead branches cut at my neo-ethereal flesh.

Separated from my soul, what's left of me climbs up the embankment and falls face -first into the lake, surrounded by cooling waters and a sweet
honeysuckle scent.

Lilly pads roll and sway with my treading. Everything flows through me and I have no skin. I have no organs. I have no bones.
My mouth hangs open in the water and a million organisms swig around inside.

I try not to afffect or disturb the surface of the water, so I can find my one thousand pieces that were scattered here.

Through sheet after sheet of light playing as far down as my toes, I see a shape far deeper that immediately fires at my heart and hits it every time.

And I begin to make out the edges around the shape and realize through bodies of perch and ferns, that all of my pieces lay scattered at your glowing golden feet. And you are carefully, picking them up, looking at each piece cautiously and gently making me whole again, occasionally resting to look up at me treading your waters and trying to breathe without you.

I have never been so terrified.