The Park.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Thank you.

Submitted: September 06, 2010

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Submitted: September 06, 2010

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the park
 
The hush of the park in the haze, early morning, is breath on glass, stowed untouched and encased in the artistry of heart-affixed fingers. A glance into ghosts is to strip the ancient trees of whispers long transmuting and to stitch that night last year to phantoms running inconsolable, melding to the swing-set chains and gathering scattered possessions in incautious devotion. Walking forward and into memory permits the haunting out there, dogged slowly in circles, exhumation, and a way through the light-matted time to where it suddenly seems a peace is descending in the bow of the town. Rangy ghost, still shaking is thrown up and gnawed by wizened wings and set apart from the earth-bound steady onward motion irrevocably. Hear that in the morning extrication all the restless mewling does grow taciturn and dismembers the shame, crafting pride in detachment really and making the company of friends named as rooks long ago, lose their titles. There where the dew-suffused sun mounts and lights the soulless green and the birds begin igniting sky and pine, is the affirmation of love, left accepted in the mindless forms that still deafly cleave to tomorrow.
 


© Copyright 2020 Alex Jose. All rights reserved.

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