I am touching the air.
And everything around it.
The wistful breeze of the world’s untamed breath chills me,
chills my bones through and through.
I can feel the gaze of those things
crawling and brawling with untamed ferocity
as though their razor sharp thoughts tethered to mine
pull me down the canyon
into the unknown below.
Here we find the untapped skeleton,
the unseen ghosts of the primordial mind;
and the air that I breathe,
the air that I touch,
caresses my fingertips and flays the remaining scraps from those forgotten bones.
Once I stood atop a tall mountain
I touched the wind, and the wind only touched me back,
and nothing more.
But now I,
sitting here in the gulch
as the tethers pull away at my senses,
and the brawling things scratch at my bones,
and stab at the purity I brought with me.
They know where I have been.
They know, and so they relent
but only for now.
Soon the air again will blow me yet further than ever before;
as it is well-known that a delicate breeze will topple mountains
after dynamite has been set off.
And I am a stick of dynamite .
It is no matter of whether it will blow,
but when the fuse will reach the powder,
and crack away at the great rock wall above.
Then as I grasp at the air around me.
choking for breath,
it will then topple over me.
The brawling things
will dig my fragmented bones out from the rubble.
And if they can reassemble the pieces properly,
they will set me up atop the hills again,
and hope that their violent urge to decimate one another
will leave me untouched.
we pray and hope together that the tethers will be broken.
And the fight will leave me in peace
to look down at the valley below
and see only its beauty,
the form of the ravine as it flows into the horizon,
and I will breathe.
And when I touch the air.
it will touch me back,
and once, just once,
do nothing more.