Coleverse

Running for the bus on weathered joints, conscious they could pop at any point - cushioned by the warm and spongy grass, thinking of your tired demanding heart. Living is a thing they cast at you - saturated postcard greens and blues. Suddenly a scene of war and strife, fleeing from the cross hairs all your life. Swaying like the palms you check your change, praying you're beyond the snipers' range. As you reach the kerb the driver's eyes never deviate. The bus rolls by.

Waiting at the border, it becomes clear: She stands at the edge of the flat earth, The world of her dead father's country behind her, Free fall fate ahead. Surrendering herself To this unknown, she can relent a little, fill her lungs, Feel looked after by the blindness to come. She blinks and, scanning rifled men's tired eyes, Knows everything at once. Knees still lock And seize after months in the smallest nooks; Realisations pepper her now As relief gives way to pain. Forcing a smile at the guards, she curses This brink that lets her see and feel herself again. '...they know I know, they know I know...' plays over in her head And she trips slowly into warm space.

This is strange: things occur that make me feel Feelings I cannot express here or make real. Moments trickle by here, making new All that hadn't been, or wasn't true.

I await revelation but time ticks over, displacing objects without the desperation of drama. And the revelation does not come. Inexorably, indiscernibly, my mind folds in on itself, my last thought urging my body to follow suit, pack up, furl, reveal itself only to the strongest will, the keenest eye.