Impossible to Capture
When the eddy of our universe had settled into its rhythm, two children glimpsed one another on a plain of dust and weeds. It is a testament to the thunder and might of glimpses that the memory of this — of faces, of eyes, of gravity’s inevitability — fell deep into the pockets of their young brains and never left. Though the years have made those sliver-moon moments as insubstantial as dreams, nothing can be forgotten unless one truly wishes to. Imagine their surprise to learn that they had helixed around a common core.
It felt like a war. A tri-polar war. A civilization of unparalleled beauty, artistry, and technology built a miraculous city. After a time, all who dwelt there perished. Much later, the followers of a dethroned ruler fled to the ruins. They had reigned for what felt like a thousand years with a decadence only the mixture of ill-suitedness and inexperience can engender. They were pursued by the ascendant rebels who had seized power at the regime’s inevitable collapse, and whose first use of that power would be to reach forth and eradicate all traces of the old order. The silent halls, like the bones of whales, clanged with the sounds of swords and the ghosts of the builders woke to invisibly strike down the interlopers.
In this state, I fled into the catacombs beneath the city.
Sine qua non
Sunlight through snow through wooden slats through eyes that do not feel like my own.
The same sun that sends a different snow into its final remission.