She swallowed the drug with her whole heart.
She wanted to go that far, as far as she could stretch.
In her head she could be joined again in the imagination
of the demons who turned to archangels. She saw them
as flowers. She saw them as pliant dancing pulses
of energy, as light. She wanted to see the whole
scene again as it fractured into increments of life
and light, as it danced. It was a great dance.
She wanted to get on top of the hill where she could
look back at the town, where she could look toward
the sky. The sky was a screen for her mind to play
upon. She wanted to melt with the trees, with the
rocks, with the flesh of all the nameable world.
She loved words. She would name the world now.
She would name it again. Again. Name it words again.
She would embrace that hill and everything upon it.
She was coming down now. She had followed the deer to the
meadow. Her body ached. Her mind was still dancing.
It danced to her fear. She couldn’t still herself.
She fell down. If only she could sink into that soil.
It was getting dark. Had she stayed too long? Had
she avoided staying with him, with one thing? Did they
need her anyway? Did anyone really love her as she
was meant to be loved, as she saw herself out on the hill?
As she saw herself as the lover who could love all of them,
any of them. Let them come to see me, she said. Her head ached.
She thought of all the ways to come down. She checked her
watch. She missed the others. Her red scarf was torn.
She checked her face in the car mirror. Her eye makeup was
smudged. She cleaned her face. She put on her
fuchsia lipstick. She could face the world.