VP – The Still Eye

The zephyr whispers, raising dust dervishes, they whirl and collapse, all energy spent. Their passing divining events still to come.

I knock and as I wait I look down. There is a small gold pin on the step, as I pick it up the door opens. I stand, she smiles, “Where did you find that?”

She closes the door, takes my hand and leads me away.

As we walk by the river a boat passes, its wake spreading behind, like geese in flight. We sit and watch as the ripples strain for the bank.

On the breeze, fallen leaves dance, an autumnal rave of green and red and gold.

We kiss.

The city sleeps and as it sleeps it dreams. Soaring towers, more light than substance reach for heaven. Miles below people spin through the streets, some look to have the heads of animals, others are almost architectural in appearance. They are masked, intricate filigree privacy

The city stirs, and as it stirs the people stir. A woman sighs with pleasure, a child cries in pain and a man dies, alone.

The wind rises, her dress clings tight to her. My jacket balloons behind me. We head for the uncertain shore.

The streetlights are tiny suns, small flying things coalesce into miniature solar systems.

We retrace our steps and as we reach her door, she leans into me and says a single word “Stay”

And the storm carries us away.

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