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trying to find the right lyrical density

April 20, 2012

It’s your turn, she said, and slid me off my stem as gently as the skin off a teardrop.

We stood at the edge of everything and looked over.

You’ll know it when you see it, she said, but I quaked a bit at the soft black enormity crossed with infinite weaving loops of life.

I scanned them slowly; there’s no hurry, she said.

I pondered a slim, sinuous silver blue ribbon.

I thought for awhile about a rushing yellow band of buoyant exuberancy.

I leaned dangerously toward a mossy lashing of spiraling green.

Suddenly I saw it and all the agony and ecstasy that has ever run the ring of time seared up inside me. I knew every curve of its journey, every kiss and kick of its texture. Its dusky bleeding crimson throbbed to the music of my one life force. It waited for me, gnarled and broken at intervals, knotted back together with cunning or desperation.

Without hesitation I flung myself toward it, glad certainty ringing through my every atom as I rushed.

Had I not tied those knots with my own fingers?

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