a pockmarked, tightly coiled cord
of heartstrings and dreamwood,
of wistful twigs and smug charcoal.
A staggering conglomerate
that walks faster than it runs.
At times, ungainly, with gnarled
nails and black teeth.
Yet, a beauty persists, clinging
passively to the cavernous depths
and endless reaches that lay unexplored
within itself. Any attempted venture
narrowly avoids death, but promises
a tattoo, small scars,
a gash above the eye.
Each mark a blow, encrypted
in the hollow bones of each survivor.
Jagged claw marks
on thick skulls.
Few have ever managed to tame
this strange beast, and none
have mastered it.
To hunt it is folly.
Like a dry leaf in a distant wind,
no man has sufficient persistence.
It feeds in the highest peaks,
nests in the murkiest ponds.
Only at the edge of a silver-tipped lake
with glossy, laminar tides,
will it wash up,
resting softly on my thigh.
I dare not touch it.
Upset by my single quick breath,
it shivers quietly in my lap.
I strain to keep my chest relaxed,
my eyes transfixed.
And then,
Ecstasy.
An icy chill, followed by a
smoldering heat, coursing through
rivets of nerves and railroad-spike veins.
Next, boiling blood begins to overflow, surging,
crashing on the doors of the heart,
each thud an exquisite stab.
The arteries swell like overworked fishnets,
as fist by fist is driven into the thin
sheet-rock walls that contain this fierce flow.
Finally, with a rough crack,
the heart erupts ever so pleasantly.
A sharp jolt of pure energy
runs its course, converting limp tissue
to taut fibers,
a breathless convulsion that
lights up the eyes and
flings the mind skyward.
Suddenly, I'm sprinting through
the clouds; thunderclaps are my footsteps,
each shard of my electric being flowing
relentlessly towards some celestial goal.
I can taste the Sun,
a medallion adorning my chest.
I ride the wind for days,
taking laps around the stars.
And then, I see her.
Soft clouds curling over her toes,
folding around the soft curves of her ankles.
The light breaks across her forehead,
illuminating each fine strand of gold
woven between thick locks of heathery brown.
Her fair skin, a pale, air-brushed pink.
Her pure eyes, a simple, soft green.
They say beauty is in the eye of
the beholder, but that is the boldest
of falsehoods; no man's eyes could contain
what stood before me, smiling.
I fall to my knees.
Our eyes dance over each other,
slowly waltzing and spinning on every detail.
Our hearts join hands.
We roam aimlessly, never looking
at the road or the glimmering stars.
We sail softly through midnight air;
she, resting gently at my side
as I coast freely, fingers pining at her hair.
Ours is the same melody that
the mountains sing at sunrise, that
rustles through pines and
echoes in valleys.
No words exchanged, but there's no need.
We are both held captive.
My arms circle her sides,
her hair draped over my shoulder.
I lean in to kiss her, and --
My eyes open.
I'm by the lake again.
Except for a black smear on my thigh,
no sign of that queer beast remains.
A flash of anger burns through my confusion,
pulling me to my feet.
I find myself running again,
more erratically than before,
possessed,
feet chopping through mud and brown water,
hands flailing, grasping towards the nothingness
at the center of the lake.
I'm up to my shoulders before I stop.
I float there, panting, staring.
Water laps against my hollow chest,
sucking the breath out of me.
"She's gone."
It's gone.
And I can't chase it.
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| Hanging Lake -- Glenwood Springs, CO |
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