the marble floor cracks and crumbles as forget-me-nots unfurl from old openings made new again between two-pronged hooves. the french church is silent, the breath of wind through gaping, time-crafted windows being the only disturbance in ages, bending the grass in prayer as no one had in living memory. now, antlers of an unknown being interrupt spears of light given form by stagnant dust, a trail of young greenery sprouting in the creature’s wake. the unannounced beast, surrounded by relics of a day past, bows its head in knowing memory of the individuals who once found reverence here. it is aware of the existence of this place. it knows what it represents. a place of god, but not the first. this one was merely an amalgamation of the forces of existence that preceded it, deities in their own right, but not often remembered as such. regardless of knowledge, the old gods exist still, finding solace in a dead place of worship, trailed by new life. yes, they are still here. forgotten, but not forgetting.

So what aren’t we talking about?

Dreaded words

poised to provoke

metacognition

a magnifying glass

______

I compartmentalize

all I am is boxes

some of which live

but some never leave the shelf

or the basement

______

She is a box knife

What’s in this one?

She dissects

and reforms

She is sunlight

touching dusty places

and sometimes the dust

brews storms

______

Without rain

the world is a desert

but I fear being lost at sea

Being afraid is okay

But don’t let it control you

She is a life raft

and an oracle who sees

solid ground