[for cameron] there out in the darkness, fallen from grace
dated to late night, 7/15, following her fall
High above, the moon, or a moon, reflected starlight through the planetary night. Silver where the sun was gold, and cool where it was hot, Morgan favored the moon over its burning counterparts. Like she, it rode in shadow of its brighter astrological cousins, elusive, mysterious, still and serene.
Gentler, too, by far, the faint silvery light only kissed off torn skin and purpling knees, where the sun had exposed and burned them. Out here in the semi-dark, she could still pretend. Pretense was all it was now, no matter that she had recovered her composure and with it the trick off putting off both heat and pain.
It was a trick, and both were still there. Even in the moonlight of a quiet island night, gentle breeze scented with tropical flora, the air was close and warm if she let herself feel it. Even in shadowed silver with the soft sounds of the river at her back, her palms stung and her knees ached if she let herself feel them.
She might use the night, the moonlight, the quiet to unmoor herself from the physical plane, but it too was just a trick. Under her feet the world still turned and gravity held her down. This body circulated and respired, metabolized and eliminated, enclosing her, whether or not she let herself feel it.
She was Lantean still, and perhaps Ascended, more than ten thousand years old, but here and now, standing with her arms around her chest, no matter how she willed it, she was strictly and simply human.
High above, the moon, or a moon, reflected starlight through the planetary night. Silver where the sun was gold, and cool where it was hot, Morgan favored the moon over its burning counterparts. Like she, it rode in shadow of its brighter astrological cousins, elusive, mysterious, still and serene.
Gentler, too, by far, the faint silvery light only kissed off torn skin and purpling knees, where the sun had exposed and burned them. Out here in the semi-dark, she could still pretend. Pretense was all it was now, no matter that she had recovered her composure and with it the trick off putting off both heat and pain.
It was a trick, and both were still there. Even in the moonlight of a quiet island night, gentle breeze scented with tropical flora, the air was close and warm if she let herself feel it. Even in shadowed silver with the soft sounds of the river at her back, her palms stung and her knees ached if she let herself feel them.
She might use the night, the moonlight, the quiet to unmoor herself from the physical plane, but it too was just a trick. Under her feet the world still turned and gravity held her down. This body circulated and respired, metabolized and eliminated, enclosing her, whether or not she let herself feel it.
She was Lantean still, and perhaps Ascended, more than ten thousand years old, but here and now, standing with her arms around her chest, no matter how she willed it, she was strictly and simply human.