The Loki Dance

amber sky

In each silver lining nestles a blackened cloud. Fear wrapped serpentine around the feet afraid of flight. But concrete is cold. She is cementing logic alongside dream not knowing the futile sound of her pouring. Misery, it pours out of me...she muses, dumping gray liquid down the side of her gray body. Sickness of soul, of sight. She can not see so far because of the night. In the light her eyes are hazel. They refuse to choose a colour. Her indecisiveness cuts out the song. The birds are still and crystalizing in the corner trees. They become little statues that have tiny beating hearts encased in glass. She knows this can not last.
Her slave is there with emanipation letters. The seal of someone else is there. She screams, "But i did not free you!" The grin from the slave is like the whip she had used. It cuts into her because she knows her will is not important.
Her hair is soft blowing in a breeze she cannot feel. She stares at the sun rising in an amber sky. The orange and pink begin to make love on the horizon, slowly reaching up as they meet their fusion. A perfect marriage consummated quickly by teenagers. She turns away. She does not want to see what she has no part in. She is no minister to bind vows. She wants a confession booth not tainted by the memory of blood.
Her blood is tangled in sheets with her legs. Her torso is cold. Her back is aching under a concrete backpack.
"How long?" she asks, "Why does it have to be so hard?" She does not see that her misery is the hardened thing. She does not know she has caused these things. So she cries to an amber sky which only answers in the gentle pouring of rain. She does not see how that could help her but the rain still comes. And every hour that it rains the stone is worked on until it pours down at her feet into a great sand dune she can traverse... All her thoughts in tiny granuels and her soft thin hair gray as her soul was finally free of the slavery.

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