Absence’s Arcs

No, I wasn’t after the dog’s shadow. Chasing that shitty car until the calendar screamed and wrinkled up its stained skirt. Her hand broke through the wall of my every disaster, but disappeared again, white and lost in perfect absences. Today the clouds are shouting at graveyards long abandoned, shipwrecked figments of burning dreams.

When I awoke, my sleep became a spy whose mission was to devastate these lies we call our lives. Perchance you might remember, that face and number associated with the crime that tore a gash in the perfect mind of our childhood, a rent that filled with the unburnt garbage of the machine, the policy, the office.

Of course I will not remember this in three more minutes. I am exploding here, forgotten on the smoldering cliff where virtue’s spirit faltered, mourned, and fell. But there, in the sky, a star arcs through the daylit tremors of my human heart. For a moment, I recall that scene, fraught with grace, alive from before our species slowly froze in place, actively swallowing their own shadows.

Mnemosyne’s silhouette. The edges of her mind, shining like the trace of any secret’s silences.