The lake is a Universe on some days. The grass and the
water coated gently with the gauze of the sun which,
touching the living things that hum around it, comes alive.
The ferns sway alongside the biggest tree: the mother
that dips and twists in the heart of a Universe. The
Universe! There has been a bell which orchestrates
a Sunday. One nailed-down mark in blurry otherwise.
Millions of footfalls from teenagers. Each
has dirty feet and the currency needed to enter
the Universe. Some find the water
immediately, while others are content to sit on the hill
and look down. Their bodies lie. Their hands
flitter and their mouths are full and
delicious delusions are packed into their ears like beeswax.
They all strip to swim eventually and their dips and bones collect
shadows and yellow honey light. Skin covered in fuzz catches the
light and glows like it wants to be kissed. No one
is married in the Universe. Everyone
can kiss everyone; how small the world seems when they swim in
the Universe. Something beyond
the Universe, something godly, notices
a body and watches as it rolls
in the grass. Even as eternity exists
for some, the best is fresh ignorance,
and true eternities are filled with
too much, too much.
The insects are caught in the frenzy and
they become excited!
They are drawn to the sweat
and the spots on the skin designated
for freckle-growing later on. They slam themselves
against the teenagers and spin away
drunk. They spiral in the shape of
corkscrews or halos and the teenagers throw
up their hands and bat clumsily at them
mid-conversation: eyes squinting, brows
scrunching. The teenagers are basking or running or jumping,
continuous motions conducting their bodies while
their minds lag behind with less
control. The Universe is seasonal. Everything grows
and orbits in the summer and then dies. Some
things die and come back unchanged. Some
don’t come back at all.
The teenagers return to the reborn grasses and the insects
and they slide back into the Universe,
the thing they will yearn for all their lives.
In the Universe there exists infinity: there is
no end or wall to be seen. Time is dirty thoughts and
dreading classrooms—and still,
for the next ones and the next ones,
all will always be well under the breeze of the Universe.
The lake is a Universe on some days. The grass and the
water coated gently with the gauze of the sun which,
touching the living things that hum around it, comes alive.
The ferns sway alongside the biggest tree: the mother
that dips and twists in the heart of a Universe. The
Universe! There has been a bell which orchestrates
a Sunday. One nailed-down mark in blurry otherwise.
Millions of footfalls from teenagers. Each
has dirty feet and the currency needed to enter
the Universe. Some find the water
immediately, while others are content to sit on the hill
and look down. Their bodies lie. Their hands
flitter and their mouths are full and
delicious delusions are packed into their ears like beeswax.
They all strip to swim eventually and their dips and bones collect
shadows and yellow honey light. Skin covered in fuzz catches the
light and glows like it wants to be kissed. No one
is married in the Universe. Everyone
can kiss everyone; how small the world seems when they swim in
the Universe. Something beyond
the Universe, something godly, notices
a body and watches as it rolls
in the grass. Even as eternity exists
for some, the best is fresh ignorance,
and true eternities are filled with
too much, too much.
The insects are caught in the frenzy and
they become excited!
They are drawn to the sweat
and the spots on the skin designated
for freckle-growing later on. They slam themselves
against the teenagers and spin away
drunk. They spiral in the shape of
corkscrews or halos and the teenagers throw
up their hands and bat clumsily at them
mid-conversation: eyes squinting, brows
scrunching. The teenagers are basking or running or jumping,
continuous motions conducting their bodies while
their minds lag behind with less
control. The Universe is seasonal. Everything grows
and orbits in the summer and then dies. Some
things die and come back unchanged. Some
don’t come back at all.
The teenagers return to the reborn grasses and the insects
and they slide back into the Universe,
the thing they will yearn for all their lives.
In the Universe there exists infinity: there is
no end or wall to be seen. Time is dirty thoughts and
dreading classrooms—and still,
for the next ones and the next ones,
all will always be well under the breeze of the Universe.
[…] The Universe […]