In the ruins of the hospital, the cry of souls rent a hole on the building and escaped. Somehow, these thread into Arachne’s tapestry with the girl from Lyme and the wreckage of destinies, for what one thinks is improbable most assuredly becomes so. A taste of sight and a touch of hearing and the coil utters it profane insouciance. A curved dastardly arch like water buffaloes mid stride. Stride I must, those legions of strata, imposing my will on it’s fascist inscriptions, breaking hearts, minds and beings. Utterly promiscuous Zanzibar.

The will to identity forces us to the declamation. Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with thee. Perseus stands against exiles with the totem of the Gorgon gifted, then to Zeus’s shield, we too affront our fellows, lovers and sisters, brothers in the thrust of it’s power. The power of stasis and still. Here she wields such powers, the spell of intransigence mesmerizing.

Father and son, we are twins and not. His voice a future echo of my own. I will fall to clouds unadorned with linings, cast as lonely passengers in the heavens of blue, gliding on gilded starry boughs stretched like the fingers of god in constellations both known and yet to know. Peace be with you, and also you.

My seed as seeds, like any seed at greenhouses, cocoons of the warmth and tender and indulging. The barriers and the membranes and the ever thinnest slices of carbons and cations dividing the living from the dead infinitely before and from within. Please be so kind as to continue. The girls and the boys, and women and men. Everyone is a baby moving through the gates from one place to the next for what does birth look like but a gaze at the sun? What pictures were in your last trip through? And… did you know you had to move into the sun to become?

With Charon’s greetings, we do face our twilight.