Forever winter the day the story was told and how the pretzeled sky twisted its way into their mouths to create such a stir, that the sun blinked while all else kept their eyes opened in awe. In awe they were to hear soporific hums venturing in from a million years away where there was no horizon but a light so loud the world knew there was no way to mute such brilliance. Such was the way the axis tilted in curious sadness and how their tongues stuck out as tremored sap vibrated against bark wondering when fossils will live again to recount the tale of history. And how the light froze over, a glaze like frosted pond with stilled lily pads and ambered mosquitos, music blinding such that they knew not what to do other than to thank the hours unending for this unexpected spectacle. 

They felt to long for the past, to be encapsulated and cozied in bubbles floating in sporadic fashion toward time where then they would anticipate the future and its ending. Those rainbow reflections pressed against oscillated spheres, their necks stretched so far to glimpse these ripples of foreshadowing. Little they knew—little they knew how existence would stoop to such levels where death created their lives, an awakening from within, new to sensations of breath and marbled chipped statues. And tears came down, each drop full of memories streaked against their faces to form thunder above their heads like halos of darkness—to wonder or to leave, to wander or to breathe, they hesitated to ponder future gleams, all else behind them like a forgotten path to jubilee.

Such sensations they felt, fingertips and touch and pores and pores soaked in morning moons they followed trances of howled teeth. Swayed branches covered in melted echoes brushed past their ears, sounds of hunger wavered below their chins. On knees suppliants yearned to placate a ringing and hollowed bellows of pierced bronze blades stuck to the roofs of their throats, they closed their eyes and learned to remember.

*