translucent fossil glowing with the compression of time. a fly stuck in the sap slowly dripping down the side of a sticky maple tree. I hold the glowing stone in my hand and squeeze it a little harder to confirm its energy. A color that is perhaps, translucent gold. It probably is its own color in a 96-count Crayola box. A good color for the hair of a Disney princess. She’s walking down the stairs with big, captivating eyes and a pink dress.
Streaks of sunlight reach across the sky on a local sandy beach. Even if no one witnesses it, it is there and it is humbling and beautiful – except for the drunk who is still hungover and miserable. Clutching an interior towel rod and groaning at the fact that he forgot to close the curtain of his hotel room. How much poison must we put inside ourselves before it all comes out, begging to be released? Sometimes it does not ask. The body knows when it’s had enough. Best not to let it get to that point in the first place.
If Armageddon raises the dead, will these fossils find their bearings? Will the amber melt away and