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11 Jun 2003 / 3:32 a.m.
.:  superhero

it was strange, sitting on your couch, playing old friends. i held your cellphone, digging the grime out of the battery. you took it from me and told me that it was his blood, and then you told me about the way he died:

you held his head, he sucked in air, automatic, long-gone already.

i imagined you there, alone with his death, next to the wrecked truck, next to the killing tree, watching your black-and-white world rise like steam into the forest canopy.

he goes to the world free from grief, free from snow. there he dwells eternal years. - from the brihad-aranyaka upanishad

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