by The Juicer
A river flows through this place. Which must mean it runs beyond, although for us, it has always stayed. Like this city we know, will last forever.
The crickets rise high in the night in waves, falling away come morning. Heavy and indistinguishable under the white fog. The silence of the dawn so eerie, just before the birds wake and the mist lifts up to the sky’s violet lips.
I was awake before the birds were, before the crickets began to sing. While you rode the dark river, to another place, uprooting unnoticed.