odious creatures we are that inspire naught but frowns and curdled expressions from the good and upright villagers. our sloping gait, leaving even unwanted footprints, we snake our varied directions towards the shrine where we will moonlit sit and refer to one another only in glances, soothed by a forgiving silence.
but we’re not there yet. first we must each drag our tabernacles. some enormous, others small, all heavy, heavy, monstrously leaden, deadening our senses. our weakness is the only strong thing about us, all joy sucked from our lungs, all vivacity sucked from our bones.
aside from our misery, which we worship daily –hourly– with our toils, we also worship the little creature, the snail. such a small edifice of nature. lungless, boneless, her own beautiful tabernacle manifesting acutely from her flesh. she inspires naught but frowns and curdled expressions from the good and upright villagers. her sloping gait, leaving unwanted glistening slime: i was here.
the dream of finding bones — teeth primarily — and fractured pieces, formerly limbs, the spine, and a jaw. All buried in moist, soft sediment by a chilly lake. The lake itself is still, surrounded by thick dewy grass. secluded and shadowed by many tall trees, it streams quietly away into a forest. I touched your teeth, caressed them, trying to transpose and occupy your final moment before you descended, halfly, into the pond, torn asunder by some beast or cosmic force. What was on your mind in the blinding cold sunshine of that now-distant spring morning?
then the dream pivots to another theater of The After. a cavernous old train station. so grey it’s purple. alive but empty. I have your jewelry box. Most wouldn’t consider this a manly or likely object to be found in your possession but maybe that’s why it came to me and not to someone else? Urgently, I am rooting through it because — why? The train might come? Someone’s calling me away? Within the box, I discover many pockets and secret hideaways — all containing rings and keepsakes from your vivacious travels. I am hoping to find some element of your truth: a picture, a note, something from which to derive meaning in your absence. I find nothing significant before I am awakened to the drudgery of another day among the living.