I ran with another of my kind
until the earth split,
the chasm dividing us like a riven bone.
Below, the damned, more numerous than lunatics in April.
Above, angels with hooked talons, singing for a drunken god in the stunned hour.
Sister! I called.
She answered, but faintly,
our common language already corrupted, scattering.
for G Man's Friday 55 and for Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads.