What Falls Apart

(untitled working image, 2010)

Tear it apart, take the splintered limbs, fragments in your hands, and walk down this path. The river man calls the ferry over, and we take a ride with him. For a while it is peaceful, as sky turns to dusk, we speak of the passing night and rehearse our stories together. To be on the river until you fall asleep in my arms. I whisper to your ear that this is where we belong. You heal the cuts on my arms; the scars disappear like the stars above. I ask to a nameless god of what creature we are, and how cruelty is as natural as caring for each other. The river man looks at us, and then stares into my eyes for a moment. He knows.
The current picks up, a grunt or two wake you as our guild fights his control. Soon our vessel will run wild, our screams will be heard from both banks, and no one will come. The falls are just before us, and I doubt we'll reach the eastern bank on time. Our cargo, our burden, will be thrown, and our hands will fight the hissing waters. I can hear the roar of falling water, and it is grand, it is great, and much much larger than me, or all of us together. There is a silence in the air, and just before we can wish of another life; one to be taken from our past and reversed in our ways, and just like that we float off.
Of baby trees, of fertile grounds; rich with mineral and life, of spitting rain on the surface of bare flesh, and such laughter that follows. I cried, your smile as grand as monuments, drunk in a moment, fireworks explode unexpectedly, and I carry you away in my arms like newly weds without a future, without a home, and nomadic like the barbarians.
The surge stops, the thundering sound of water disappears, and I see your face, lifeless and dull, eyes screaming to winged creatures, asking to carry us away from this. I swear I see your soul leave you. In my arms you feel weightless, and I hold on for as long as I could. I can't remember the rest, I can't remember what happened. All I know is we are here, somewhere in the milk of dreams, of legend, and of the past, and that we can no longer change beyond what has been done. Those who spoken, tell of our stories, but know not of what follows, for nor do we speak of such moments. We reached something grand, beyond our memory, and who we were could not have spoken for such times, so we left who we were behind. Something has changed, our flesh as the shells of what once was, but to us, now forgotten, for future is in our feet. Each step is new life, each breathe our own, together.