Parallax

From viscous to liquid; a silent eruption behind the iris; beyond language, not knowing how or when or from where.

Do you remember those mornings, the breathing trees observing a moon fading & sun bleeding across the sky, your arm linked with mine?

How time dilated & the gaze was so benign?

Now, two seasons later & nostalgia sharpens that strange blade: a weapon that leaves no trace except for a particular posture; glazed eyes seeing only spectral projections, the way cats seems to see into some hidden distance.

From liquid to viscous; the cat is not vicious, the blade not dangerous;

our parallax view has changed & separated.

One for

me & another for you.