we were forged in fury, ancient as the blackbirds who remember the world without a moon, we who learnt to play with fire, back when anaximander dreamed the earth a drum suspended in dark space. but we knew better, sizzling and crackling down jagged cliffs to vermillion seas. our love erupted from the cauldrons of volcanoes, singing through smoke and dust, leaving behind a trail of lava for our children to follow but when they were born, they were black as shadow
we lurk the crevices of underground caves, our lips too burnt to sing. the world is too much for us, so we learn to disappear within each other, colours mingling like a rainbow drowning in the sky. in a parallel life, blackbirds build nests of skeletal twigs, waters dance to the whims of a silver moon and the jilted barren mountains yearn for the sky to kiss them wet and green but we who have died long ago, our blood petrified in our veins, our love an ancient fossil, die in silent sleep everyday
sometimes we remember our own demented dreams, where we fall to the abyss like icarus only to fly away with the wings of fire. we’d sing that story every night till our lips were burnt black with the despair of hope. sometimes i think i know you as someone else, as dust motes glittering goldenly or as leaves of russet, whispering through the heart of a broken town. we are ancient spirits of the air, trapped in crumbling stone, sending our last wish to the blackbirds who’ve claimed the star-stitched sky as home. once we fell to fly, now we fall, fall, fall to remember to fly again.
previously published in seafoam mag