Well Geryon just another Saturday morning me laughing and you crying,

I was thinking about time—he gropes— you know how apart people are in time together and apart at the same time—stops.

Wrongness came like a lone finger chopping through the room and he ducked.

Enormous pools of a moment kept opening around his hands each time he tried to move them. Coldness was planing the sides off his vision leaving a narrow canal down which the shock— Geryon sat on the floor suddenly.

A volcano is not a mountain like others. Raising a camera to one’s face has effects no one can calculate in advance.

I am disappearing, he thought but the photographs were worth it.

There are a few smiles, many broken teeth, no anger.

bowl of gold where the last moments of sunset were exploding

the car rounded a curve and the sky rushed open before them