Then: this style, that style–all akimbo, burst scorpion arms wavering to undo the rushing waters of a rainbow.
“You thought about it some more. Have you left this place?”
A blink. A thousand fortunes reversed.
“Rest. Can you contemplate the beating of an eyelash?”
“I am no eyes.”
“I am no eyes for magicians.”
“Is it useful, at least, to decipher where lies the brail?”
“Tarantulas crawl across the dusty rafters, but my eyes fill with pockets.”
“And I am. I am no Eye.”
“What do you want?”
“…I…don’t know how to put this…”
“I met her in the desert, but I had the distinct impression this all happened in the future…that is: the series of events I’m about to relate to you.”
“Do you like blue flowers or red flowers?”
“I don’t remember. I do remember it happened in early spring. My horse had just come down from the mountains to bring the family fresh spring water.”
“We were feeling trapped, as usual. But then we started dreaming about dragons and everything was fine again.”
“What happened next…I mean…after the funeral…”
“They weren’t mean spirits, but they were wild animals.”
“Can you repeat what you said before? I wasn’t even listening.”
“When bees harvest their eggs from the deep dark oceans, a terrible wind might blow.”
It was Friday night after all….
Yet I knew, like the sun, the dust motes were beyond compare.
A room further within the premises revealed an altogether separate fate, from which I sought to break.
I ran home, ruining my chances with the magicians and the acrobats.
“I’ll wait here for awhile.”
“The sand still runs through my fingers and the taste of a bitter chocolate remains. I can still see the ruffled marigolds floating along the bright wet pavement at dawn.”
“I only know the weight of the stones in my pockets. Everything else is a nauseating blur.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“You might say a thousand meaningful things, but every instant would be repeated.”
That was the best summer of our lives, and we didn’t even know it.
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