The Ghost's Leavetaking (2)
You surface seldom now. Then you come in like the wind with the dark tide's coming. Out of the northern mists you appear, nearing, looming out of the shadows of night. It would take more than a lightning-stroke to create such an obscure ruin. A ruin to be steered clear of, not fathomed. All obscurity starts with danger. Your dangers are many. A dragnet in the black sky, rising, falling, far flung, miles long, extending the radial wisps, their trails arching above me in their old anarchy to the horizon line like something out of the Oresteia.
I cannot look much but your ruined forms suffer some strange injury and seem to die: Your presence survives the old myth of origins unimaginable. Perhaps you consider yourselves oracles, mouthpieces of the dead, or of some god or other. Over thirty years now I have laboured to dredge the silt from my ears, set there by your voices, coming in on the tides, then slipping out again like that susurration from seashells. The voices of you both ravelling like vapours through my dreams, fading to clearness in the dawn sky, I am none the wiser as I lay naked in my dream bed, curled up like a foetus, my little doll dress discarded over the covers.
Clambering over the ruins, using ladders, ropes and chains, anything to try to reach the heart of your yearning call, armed with memories I crawl in mourning over the labyrinthine tangle you left behind. In sleepless nights the dark rumours of your burials amongst the ruins move me to half-believe: your reappearance proves rumours shallow. The sun sinks under the pillar of the earth and the sky's ridgepole. My hours are married to your shadows.
I wait longingly, as ages beat like torrential rains from the overcast shadows of the dark sky. Your fleeting voices howling in the rush of winds, incarcerated like whirlpools then spinning, runnelling away into distances, away from the ruins, away from me. No longer do I listen for the sound of your voices in the blank face of that dusk.
You defy my questions why; you defy what your god promised, the promises you both made to me. I climb alone on your ruin's border exiled to aloneness for eternity, forever remembering, forever trying to hear those voices in the murderous sounding wild air. The air which I breathe like water. Like the days before I was born when I could hear both your murmurings through the veil.
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A link to my gallery; La Galleria de Luce