my arms, the soft roughness of my robe. my waist, the tightness as i pull both sides together, i am wrapped.
i measure the sides of my covering, all even, a double-knot.
softly, softly, as snow slowed to a hover, the silk slithers down, down over my arms, my body, brushing my feet. i adjust my headdress. and then again, the sounds and lightest pressure of silk on silk as i am now covered as i should be.
and then, then, my crowns terrible fit, smugly, they have me.
down i kneel on my throne of thrones.
again to pray, to fly, to live, to die. again to salty feel tears, eyes blurred, the world whirls. my arms reach out to the altar and i stay erect.
one hand in the hand of the Beloved, the other, in the hand of my commander. we go, we go and i know not where, only that it is to another vista, anywhere but here.
o gods. i tremble for the road has led me long beyond my cable-tow, i am walking free yet not guideless through barrens and wilds. i shall never return, forever.
i know not even whether i shall reach a destination. for it is footfall, footfall, footfall. at least now that my boots have long since worn away, and the blisters healed, my feet are thickset with callus. but my heart, in turn, with each thickness added to my feet, is peeled thinly away, and beats like the unlidded eye of god upon myself, and i shudder.
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