a flat plane under a clear sky.

a black sun haunting milky white space.

the sun capsizes and goes down, stern first
in a series of imperceptible jerks.

the sky dissolves in static.
5-point stars slowly emerge.
they seem to come towards me like all the headlights
on all the trains
in all the world
all right on schedule to arrive at the station of my mind
all at the very same random moment in Time.

the stars enlarge, overlap, and merge
in brilliant grayness.

a sharp-edged silhouette appears on the plane
in the fuzzy distance
with brilliant gray behind.

a woman.

walking towards me.

the speechless silhouette of a diaphanous gown billows out behind her
though there is no wind
and never has been.

a woman
walking calmly towards me

barefoot

though the plane is covered with broken glass
to a depth of several consciousnesses.

bottle glass, window glass, shattered pc monitor glass
it is all the same to the petrified ants that scurry among the bits
for no apparent reason.

she casts no shadow.

she is but shadow.

i lay down in the middle of the straight-line path she is taking through the plane and my life
so that she may know a brief moment of glasslessness
as she walks across my otherwise useless back

so that for a single second or two
as she makes her way through this world of sharp edges
she may know absolute
Freedom from Glass.

as i lay there awaiting her arrival
i notice footprints have preceded her on the ground
glass-free footprints
which she comes and matches her feet to exactly

effortlessly

without even looking down.

footprints created by some unknown geologic process eons ago
footprints which have been patiently awaiting her arrival since their creation
footprints which arc around my body, just inches from it
as, of course, does she.

i am left with a pain in my chest from embedded shards
and a glassy-eyed stare
as i watch her recede in the distance
oblivious to our near-encounter
and the souvenir footstep i've slipped into my pocket.

though it is years until the black sun rises again
i seize it by the scruff of the corona
before it has even cleared the comatose horizon
slather it with the scent of what might have been
and eat it whole

and at long last
the shadow of the walking woman
is at one with the dark living hunger
within....