ignis fatuus

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i. busker

she walked down the stairs afterwards clambering footsteps along the movement of the minute-long steps– heels too heavy for her heart to follow. soley played in the windy light, drops of glowing honesty falling into welcoming tins– gently, gently, reflecting handfuls of humanity captured in the tinkling ’thank you’s that barely escape chapped lips.

ii. transitory

her soles are heavy but her head is light. heels to toes on cement and steel and tarmac and soil and cement again, leave a trail of contained contentment on trampled ground. she missed her tonight. because she was there but she wasn’t there. just like every other recorded sunset to comforting cold of darkness that missed her in the captured light, wooden benches ponder with her thoughts that allowed themselves to be led astray with the wind.

iii. grey

knowledge of proximity was all feelings at once eyes dancing around grey edges and seeing her absence lurking over every wall, then returning to addictive excuse. occasionally the wind would whisper imitations of her footsteps and spin the waiting into expectant disappointment. just like every yes on the left side– confusing.

iv. train

she let herself walk down the path of white rules on the broken tar, two traffic lights and a flight of steps and her heavy shoes complied with the gratitude of gravity, sinking into solid disorientation and she accepted it with closed eyes against the world’s sighs. moving forward with time as she watched walls and lights rush by, disintegrating into sky and homely spaces, passing the place she lived and onwards into the darkness towards her own rest, streetlights beckoning her in the rocking melody of the wind, sighing under a familiar comfort, one she hadn’t felt in years, welcoming her back under blankets as she fell asleep.


she sees me quiet as we walk across the slope, conveniently avoiding the traffic light.
“are you okay?” she asks.
“i don’t know,” i shrug my shoulders the way she always told me not to.
“are you sad?” she continues.
“um, i don’t know.”
“are you happy?”
“i.. don’t know?”
“well then what are you?”
“i don’t know, just.. me, i guess.”


One thought on “ignis fatuus

  1. Exceptional piece of art, and a good choice of title, “Wisp” although I’m having a hard time trying to find the language that you choose to use. French to Latin~


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