Ghost fire pulsing. Radical waves heaving and to-ing and fro-ing. Crashing down on the sea, the Queen cries out, “save the Mission Bell!” Returned from greatness, fallen from defeat; pulverizing defeat that sets you back not one year not two, but ten that amount to a life time of what could of beens. You look in the mirror, and see her. And you see yourself. But you’re not good enough. You look through glass, kaleidoscope beams collected from droplets of sun. Refracted and broken at the stone of the once thought. The Knowing. The certainty that war is being waged in your heart, she’s there sleeping behind the glass, and you’re not worthy.
Exhausted, I drop to my knees. Twinge and twang and electricity ricochet up my spin, knees hit the concrete so hard; buckle up, you have my soul now.
I’ve laid waste to who I am and who I was and where I want to be. But I’m here. Next to her in my dreams. Her head nestled on my chest, in a some day dream.
One day I’ll stop at that old corner, that forest road, and I’ll take the right turn. The 2 o clock turn.
Make way for us. Take care of my heart. Be mindful of its beating in your pocket. Pocket sized, full of surprises, full of integrity. Don’t take it from me. You’ll find her everywhere. This Her from the North. All you have to do is open your eyes. Then you’ll be home. Then you’ll find happiness