Newton's Cradle

sunrise too soon and too bright, the last eclipse left its shadows. glass is shattering, cells are breaking, letters of tear stained ink, everything is moving forward without consent- no provocation. they could not hold their ground, everything is soiled in two different places at the same time. the labyrinth gives way for just a moment and another inlet appears on the other side of the obsidian walls where they meet. she does not know that he knows nothing. he does not know if she's lying. neither know the truths. the windows are still breaking but by absence, the hallow wind is unrelenting. three knocks. the door, the heart, the vacuum. there is a book and script of something they relate, loss, lost. sideways pages of secrets, he misses the thrill and mischief of anything. north has nothing but ghosts. she is full of ghosts. they are the old song, the ever living ghosts of what once was. it's the start of the end for them and neither know it. he says he will leave and he always tells her that he will stay on this bench and she will have to go to the next room. she always refused and she was right, she had to be the one to say to go. distance apart, silence sometimes fills until the next moment of idleness becomes unbearable. they want hands and teeth and vespers and are just in reach but it's like the souls in limbo.  the souls in lust. so close and so far. they will not reach again. glass shatters still and he's trying to let someone come with a dustpan, but this is germany.  they cannot stop. they cannot stop. they will not stop.