Fourth of July

" 'Cos I heard it in the wind and I saw it in the sky,
And I thought it was the end, I thought it was the fourth of July "

Chris Cornell

I saw a firework, dead, burnt, on the street. I reflected on how sad its resting place, how briefly it had burned and now how ignominious its fall.
At one time it had potential. Potential to explode and cause delight. Always while it had potential it was a special thing. A device of magic, waiting to bring wonder. In its short life of usefulness it was above us all. It could fly, it could shower us with metallic petals of light. Great golden arcs that would shard in the sky.
And then, dropping black and crippled onto an unlit street corner it could now only move if kicked or gusted by a force of nature.
Still, at least it had fulfilled its potential.

How it happened...

Spent so much time waiting for it to happen.
I was grovelling in groping darkness for some salvation, some end to the decay of hope.
When you came your eyes offered me an escape from soil, from soggy undergrowth.
The connection was transcendent and I awoke atop beautiful spires of decadent confetti, lost in your freckles and lashes.
An arrow pointed me to the rocks where you were sleeping.
I found you there, sleeping in the dawn.
It was already warm.
The sea tingled my feet.
Your blood mingled with the tide and turned the foam pink.
It made me smile.
I kept kissing your hair; the bubbles were abundant.
Lots of little fishes, gathering all around you, kissing you, like me.
I congratulated myself on bringing you this far, on making you accept this fate, this closeness to me.
Several drops of rain applied tears to my cheek…
I realised what had been done; done to you; you were lost to everyone; everyone dies.
There, in the treeline, at the beach edge, slunk death: clawing at the dry sand, hissing deliriously, gnawing its own eyes.
I watched the ancient force of death shimmering in the shadows at the edge of reality.
At intervals, it seemed he would shiver and expand across the beach like a sheet of black plastic, wishing for me to flit into his net like a migratory bird.
Instead I kissed your hair some more and pulled your body further from death, further out into the lagoon.
Further out into the warm seas, far from evil ends, out to where the dolphin hurdles and the turtle plays.
And the shark - the shark, you called him to me!
You, dripping his invite like sweat on wet skin; me, floundering in thick waves.
“He was delicious,” thought the shark and you smiled. Your gleaming treachery was the last thing my eye punctured.
Then thrashing and more bubbles and more little fishes. And you kept smiling.