Lacertae III: Bessemer Cruciballis

Pain. In the darkest places. Seeping, dripping, seeking, eating all it can.

Ice. Falling. Hail from the sky down to the frost covered ground. White, pure, but killing any hopes for spring.

Longing. I’m hearing you speak. Say words at a coffee table. Knowing that you will return to this moment. Knowing this is the moment I will remember in the weeks…

Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.

Little things I remember. 

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. 

Eclipse. Moonshine. 

Water. The lake. Roaring waves. Iceland. Dark smiles.

Juxtaposition, and it’s still a hot coffee I’m drinking. Another morning. I’m here. I can still here you. It doesn’t feel fair. But since when was the goddess fair? She made both the grass and the snake hiding in it. Or just perhaps the precursors. The soup that makes our reality. The memorial service.

The ducks. The lake. The Lacertae.

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