If this is History

A record of intentions.

scenic view of a lightning in the sky

Then let it be known that the bleeding bodies of our words went first. Once emptied they could be sharpened to capital letters and fired toward certain ends. The first layer of a portrait is wet on wet, a luminosity that won’t come again. Point being, let this not be a likeness, but more.

When everyone had waved goodbye and the cars between us hummed a question of what might be saved, there came a flame at the end of the sharpened tip of a sawed limb, and we could touch but not taste it. We meant to leave the known world, but it chased us, yipping at heels.

We meant to tap the skies until from somewhere behind their altitudes we heard the click of a door about to give.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

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