Aspen Season.
Aspen season
I)
00:18: It’s over –
the rain stopped, finally.
The night’s gotten too cold,
she shivers (it must be
aspen season already).
–
She shakes
off water drops that
have collected beneath
the folds of her
many, many eyes.
–
The water drips down and
she breathes a sigh of
relief – a night breeze,
soft and sweet and a little bitter.
I think, it’s really over.
–
II)
00:19: Clang –
broken glass or
porcelain, maybe?
No, it was the moon.
She fell off the sky.
–
She fell to pieces:
how beautifully they glimmer
as they drift in
a tiny puddle of dirt –
what an odd wishing well.
–
I light a cigarette
and make a wish.
–
III)
00:20: Smoke fills the kitchen –
I don’t open a window.
I just don’t know how
to let go of things.
I let it fill the empty space
–
he left behind (along
with an empty promise:
see-through and
revenant like a ghost or
maybe just a nightmare);
–
all the emptiness
seeping out
of the walls, the sockets,
blue and quiet
like electricity.
–
IV)
00:21: Clang –
louder this time, almost violent.
I feel a breath
in my neck, a cough:
sour and stale.
–
I blink, splinters in my
shivering hands (it must be
aspen season already):
Your promise – it lies in pieces and
finally, I can even see it:
–
Tiny holes in the dark like
fresh cuts that won’t stop bleeding.
—