Tectonic Times

After the funeral, the mountain range disappeared. It wasn’t fog. Rather, a swallowing. Folks hissed in their homes, "goodbye resale value” (expressed as, “our poor ecosystem” in the grocery stores).

Delphi and Andre had once stood on their balcony, facing peaks and drops, exhales matched. Knowledge of their sleeping child had formed their clay positioning.

The landmass wasn’t solid.

Days passed of stygian erosion until Delphi dreamed of young laughter. She woke and took a pilgrimage over the precipice of After, reaching Cyril’s old room.

Andre was asleep in the twin bed. Upon touching his face, two plates collided.