It happens


            It would happen.  The things approach us.  We feel them in our horizons.  Extending out behind us.  A sort of fullness.  A swelling, sweltering cool.  Billowing possibility.  Stand and stare, even in our movement, unseeing.  We blindly gaze.  Caught short, upended, the rhythm is certainly sea.  We are dry.  We will happen.  We are bound to.  Look out.

Remote murmur.  You know.

Not trauma.  Distant thrumble.

You speak.

Echo absorbs.

It would happen.  Consider.

It will happen.  Just you wait.

A world is a kind of ode.

Your body a stylus.

We are here.

N Filbert 2012

for Friday Fictioneers, August 24, 2012

14 thoughts on “It happens

  1. Dear N,

    This was a beautiful piece, strange and rhythmic, full of mystery and menace. I’m still absorbing it, trying to tease meaning from the strands you wove. Good job with the prompt.



"A word is a bridge thrown between myself and an other - a territory shared by both" - M. Bakhtin

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