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.
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