new animals from the air
i wanted to know what it was like, so i wrote a love song for you. i looked up and saw what i was looking for. all along, roads seemed to lie in wait, steady, imperceptible. then came images of flesh stretching beneath multiple suns, the light gazing down, lazily blinking to shift the colors pinking and yellowing, now peach and soft orange. there was nothing but this road, and the mountains grounded ahead. everything seemed to balance on the hinge between them, as though at any moment one door or the other would shut. would the song end that way? i see you standing beneath a sun, shutting your eyes and feeling the magnificent weight pushing on each side. i wonder if the sky or the earth feels heavier, and if you can see the stars piling up, or great armies of rock forming lines. the sky burned brightly, and i stretched beneath, waxing and waning to change my surface. at particular angles i disappeared, save for a limb or a few fingers, which continued to flick and curve, feeling out the stillness of the air and the ripples of pressure. i turned to you with pleasure, and together we watched the trees unfold. we raptured; the hinge was oiled. the earth yawned and the mountain peaks strained, all great bellowing calves. in a moment the text would utter its last.