Finding Brompton

Tick, tock;

He sensed it, always next to him.

Tick, tock, whir, click;

Straining—as he did, but for him.

Tick, tock, whir, click, plunge, whoosh;

Again.

^ ^ ^ ^

He strained.

A saltwater river rode along the crest of his lip to his tongue.

He lay back down.

How many days?

Were they greater or fewer than the number of his memories?

He no longer was certain.

^ ^ ^ ^

His eyes fluttered like tiny cobwebs caught by a single breeze.

The breeze left;

The rain came.

Just a sprinkle

From the corners of his eyes.

^ ^ ^ ^

The tubes conspired to constrain him.

Fingers fumbling

for the slit near his hip.

He held it, gripping tight against loss.

Pristine, shiny, precious, sharp.

Prick, pierce, plunge.

^ ^ ^

His body gulped it, all of it, down.

The train came,

And the waves.

They soared and swelled within the cave.

Still, he waited for the sun.