I am writing to you by way of the earth. By way of the object, the sound, the thing. I am writing to you by way of reconfiguration. I am writing you by way of Geyser, by way of Smoke and of Water pouring from the ground. I am writing to you from the land of Burned Throats. I writing you from beneath Ground and also from above it.
I am not afraid. A cool wash has swept into my throat and brushed out all the burning. I have escaped Smoke and Water. Now placed at the mouth of Geyser. And no sound, only singular tones. Dark open tones. And then tiny waves sent spreading into the openness, sent out in black lines across the surface of the earth. Dark hair done into tight thin braids covering. Sending Water and Smoke to pour. Sending in its place holy Geysers. Sweeping out cool washes to brush out all the Burnings.
This is how any of us will learn. Only by way of the earth. Only by way of Geyser, by way of holy tones. Only in stuffing dark hair down into Burned Throats.
A formation of tiny dark waves meeting a formation of black lined hair.
A burned throat is only a place where fire used to be. It is a place which forced out Smoke and Water. A place of sending and black lines forming spreading from the fire of it.
I do not fear you, Radiant Being. I am only the exact equal of you, the complete proportion and sweep of you. You may touch me and kill me and so might I kiss you and sing you. So might I send out dark waves from my own mouth. So might I send you a small message, riding on the dark crest of them.
Radiant Being, I am not afraid of you but I do Fear you. Your collection of open tones and your broken claw passing over my face. I will lay still for you. I will only watch your black hoof hovering above me. I will lay still and I will watch you pass over my bed. And I will not speak when you brush with your wash all the small burning and dark hair from my throat.
b r o t h e r g h o s t