Lauterbach - Spell

A continuum belated us, like the slow-motion spit of a shaman. Friendships went south. We could not name our freedoms, only the pause between days in which all matters of belonging densely accrued, then scattered. I could not wake up. She wore a tiara and spoke rapidly into the swollen air, youthful and eager, in bliss for that, while I changed into a shadow just as the oil, heating in the kitchen, began to snarl and a single mosquito itched against the screen, wanting out, or blood. The arc of distance is partial.

The sun set into its given, not prone to regret or sorrow. Ill stay in the thick jungles weeds, without expertise, and mystify the brand. A quotidian logic animates the scene, heads nodding, hands busy under cover of night. Ill stay here by the leaves yellowing in their dotage, among sentences dangling on webs and irreducible to the temptation to flee. Ill be here in the ancient shade of a crass belligerent god, huge on a high wire, teetering over an abyss. Im here, sweetheart, dressed in my skin, ready.

There is some kindness in the zone of farewell: handing over the towel, removing the shoes, looking away from the hanging figures heavy pain, sending a note: Beloved, I regretyou were not able to continue on this pathwe made together, but did not follow,and that your mouth fit so easily over its lieslike a kiss. No matter. We aresevered from the memorials agenda,which has, as you know,moved on without us. The light is blue-gray and the evidence of harm has been removed, swept under the great litter they call what happened.