"i'm not having anyone talk about me in the past tense!"
somewhere west of esthar --
carrying her (limp) along decrepit railroad tracks
toward the horizon and the end of the world...
somewhere between her last trial and his
-- he realized it was all his fault.
they'd shared a shooting star.
she smiled, watching it, shining,
and suddenly his nightmare of public glory
didn't seem so bad.
he'd walked to her blaze and been warmed
silent as he told himself: live hard die young
better to do than start dying
now, slow, cold and alone...
he realizes a mass of ice
plummeting to burn in the unforgiving atmosphere
destroys more than itself
as it falls.