EVE SPEAKS 2

One by one the stars go out, and I wonder how you will navigate to this place where I am standing. To some, this would be cause for prayer, though I have never known how to pray. Sad little pocket of silence here, where my shadow no longer resembles me. Here, within my dreamweaving, it is always autumn, and old men and trannies dance to the feedback and treble of someone else’s distant music. The walls spill their electrical wire and fuse boxes, and one by one the stars go out. Each dying flicker there, and the oars of your boatmen grow silent. Swishing water against hulls become a whisper. I watch these wordless deaths, I light a beacon, and let the oarsmen resume their song.

 

Come ashore, my winsome pilgrim, kiss the earth if you must. See how this collection of stolen bones becomes a wolf. Place your open hand there, and the delicate skin of your wrist supine, so that she may know your scent. Within salt circles, unlock this cage of skin with a hairpin. See the flesh burn away, until all that remains is the seashell. Place your ear gently against her heart, a memory of ocean. Take a lock of her hair; bind it with silk. Do not speak your intention. Bury it beneath the most fragrant tree in this garden, and remember to taste the wind. Dear pilgrim, now there is cause for prayer, even for one who has forgotten the words.