|Becoming Nature (standard:romance, 279 words)|
|Author: Cyrano||Added: Jan 11 2009||Views/Reads: 1712/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|It is trickery to die, yet dance on...|
At the edge of the ocean, where moon-flowers drip silver rain. That's where she is. The little girl, dead beneath shipless waves, spreading her blues and greens on faraway beaches, where she plays with foreign little boys, chasing their ankles in her favorite petticoat. Smiles brighten and break. Tears squeak in the sand. I cannot be touched with words anymore. Only visions work. Nudity covered and clothed in rainbows. Don't talk to me of priests and cathedrals, but of leviathans, children on the edge of fields that rock and roll. Talk of the fishermaid, the pirate's song, pebbles and seaweed and hair flying. It is trickery to die, yet dance on, never to whither like dying flowers, but smell always like the ocean. I'm caught up in the ballet of the jellyfish, forever attached to its skirt, as if that floating light could be her. No longer at my side, I'm a child abandoned on the causeway, running into the sea. I have waited so long that at length I have forgotten my fear and regret. Tuneful tides, spreading themselves out where madness exists and voices speak, ebbing and flowing the breadth of the globe, the blue depths, the underworld salon where she fixes her hair. She drifts with ancient insanities in a place before history or religion. Whistlings of death occur daily. I live outside her world, listening to lovesick songs. Tears start, tinklings vibrate in my chest. Long to be close I cannot. I have kissed the summer's dawn, walked with a vital breath among a battalion of shadows in what is now a duller world. Yes, it is trickery to leave, go hide, to become nature. Tweet
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