The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. Bleaching the world to redemption, remnants of night’s misdeeds scattered to dust. The sacred profanity of triumph and disaster residing as neighbours. I am in this camp then that one. My feet itch and dance into the afternoon with no alliances. I seek only the belly warmth this day offers and how surprising the places where love lurks, its faerie face dirty with mischief, its glow unassailable.
*
The circus arrives without warning. Doesn’t it always? No trumpets but the boom thump of blood reaction to the dream that finally shows up for you. Come, Dream. I waited for you. Looked everywhere. Then, in the midst of laughter, forgetting you a while, you showed up in a language just for me. Only I could see you and no one understood why I paused too long then excused myself. The thump blood of answered premonition, the quiet voice that tried to make you listen but could only have its way as the night stretched her shoulders.
The unreachable part of you that sees all and knows all and now must go it alone again. You, my friends who I love, not too long. How forbidden I am to love you too long. It hurts yet I would rather see you, stolen, than not at all. What journey is this that takes me away always?
Come with me then, Dream, and keep me company. Let’s traverse awhile before the rain scatters the sun. Let us peer into the outskirt of underworld but never go in. We need never go there again.
© N. Nazir 2023
Written for Poets and Storytellers United, where Magaly invites us to write using famous first lines as prompts. I chose two, one from Murphy by Samuel Beckett, the other from The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.
Sunra Rainz 