MoonLune

The sky is dark blue and a sounding crack vibrates through the air. A flash of hot-white illuminates the building as it breaks apart around me. My father wraps around the building, crushing it with scales and talons. My mother is water and she is light, in my arms she passes.

I climb and I run, beneath me my limbs are gel and I hold your hand. The screeching confounding in the darkness. Our skin stings, or at least mine does. My bones have always felt ill-formed, as we make our way down it is most evident.

We make it out before the empty building comes down. I must still be running, because the colors have turned to feathers, and each light is a hexagon against my irises. There is a soft chatter around me and I come together again. I peek past the smooth green leaves into the color blue. 

I am the chatter and the child who bends over the fountains. My hair is long and my hair is dark. My face is soft each time, my face is sweet each time. Like porcelain figures and music boxes, they contort and recite. If I could touch you now, I would. 

Whatever trance was cast is fragmented and swept as you call my name. I follow you past gardens into the place that I don’t know and the place that I can’t see.There are no feathers and there are no hexagons. There is no water, there is no light. The sky is dark blue like that winter evening at that house on those hills where we left it that piece of youth. The dust is in my hair, my throat is dry. My mother calls my name.