MORNING TWENTY SEVEN

 

I align myself perfectly. Feet towards the sun, head towards the moon. I lay my body perfectly between the two, an invisible line tracing its trajectory across my topography. It scores into me. A searing line of fire torching everything in its path. It burns its trace through my frozen body, igniting skin, splintering bone, reducing me to ash. I lie perfectly still for fear of a false move. One degree more, one angle less and I fall out of orbit. No longer in sync, no longer cyclical, no longer a coordinate of my own constellation. 

But I lay. I align. I submit my self to the sky in a communion between three heavenly bodies. And there I rest watching the paths arch over me until dawn rises once more.

DAY TWENTY SIX

Me and him, we're from different ancient tribes. Sometimes you gotta stick with the ancient ways...you know, the old school ways. But now...we're both almost extinct. You understand me?

Me and him, we're from different blood you know? He's got his clan, I got mine. He tells me his old knowledge but we share no language. Together...we live in the sky. Him worshiping the sun...and me...well, I worship the moon.

But now, we're both almost extinct.