They lie on the floor, huge with grief.
Gravity increases as you
draw closer. But you draw closer.
The usual purgations failed,
as they always will in times of
inobservance perfected.
Without ritual the tears are
just tears, but isn’t this real catharsis:
evacuation, the body purged?
Approach the scalloped ear of the
downed monument. Take note of
all the atmospheric changes,
of pressure and temperature.
The giant sighs gales, moans their dense fog.
Cast your question into the mist
to hear the negative wisdom
of the anti-oracle. Oh,
I am just a tiny thing, but
is there anything I can do?
Pause, and let the question echo.
Retreat. Imagine you’ve been heard.
Imagine the question could be
enough. Imagine that asking
could be enough.
Size Writes 