I am the last speck of pollen. We skip spring, always. The end of my story always involves at least one person metamorphosed into an mirroring object. You and I are the one Thing unlike the others, and one of us with be with the other, even till the end of the age. 

That you no longer feel one with your flesh or twinned against the image of the dais alarms me like the smolders of a burned house, ashes drifting across time like snow.   That I no longer know where to walk in this field that was mine anymore could crush hearts stonier than the hills […]

Here, in shiplessness, I am lighter than all water in the ocean of Elsewhere.  Along with us for the journey, objects with inner lives: figurines, books, screens, and thousands of pictures to be deleted or burned at the destination. You and I left from opposite corners, like two boxers approaching in affectionate aggression, ready for […]