The nightmare arrives without formal warning. Our worst fears dressed for the occasion and summoned upon the main stage, leading us around with spotlights and antics as if this audience were ensnared in a web of marionette strings.
Like children, we gasp and flinch at the mute clown whose loudest gestures we recognize as jesters of our own expressions clamoring for attentive eyes and diamond focus but with chins chained to chest, we gift our gaze on the narrow gravel road reciting, Left, Right, Left Right.
The shine comes in on the sides.
The tunnel approaches. It to we-not we to it. Willingly we accept this sinking into darkness, feeling the bends on our bodies and resisting the urge to vocalize the high screech of metal upon metal, friction made to mimic terror or prayer.
The corners fill with as much darkness as they can manage to save for sacred things and on-lookers limited by right angles.
The movement came before we lost our balance.
A fine tune for depth perception like middle C, all was lost when he came out the other side. And although he managed to feel his way on rails, inside the steel lines, the white noise made the colorful words sing with sharper clarity amid the fog that marries the man, floats its burden or necessity for water, never lifting the veil or the pall that bears the name Borges.
Fingers down spines one feels gilt different from the rest. Dimes in the mines, dust did not mask the irony. The writer, the reader, the dance, the proper forms.
The dusk haze came with the warning, “Do Not Read in dim light”, the dream played live, the reeling words and fading vision, the black hole in the mountain that approaches its target, the train pushes on a winter’s night for willing travelers, shearing snow with pointed blades to suspend belief like vision and baggage, and an able composer setting the tempo as all rush and silence, a sensation of propulsion faster than the speed of life can make out in numbers. Wind rattles the windows.
The final destination felt like Home in bed.
Image credit By Julie Méndez Ezcurra (Escaneo Negativo Original) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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