There is only you now.
Quelled vibrations and only you.
Light does not quiver, nor pour roughly.
Shark skin.
A file taken to shark skin.
An eternity, and all that is left now is congealing blood and flat, flat surfaces.
An eternity, and there is only you now.
The cry has long ago dispersed in the pool.
The pool is nowhere to be found.
It lies, perhaps, amidst shattered city-scapes.
Scapes frozen just past exuberance.
On the decline, triumph runs towards the precipice.
At the bottom, at the bottom is the pool.
You sit on its banks.
Your respiration, the rippling contacts of your flat toes, go soundlessly.
Filed, filed, filed away.
I float under the surface, not feeling your ripples.
Am I really floating?
The question, too, cannot surface.
Am I really floating, or am I really sinking?
There is only you now, eyes reflected, reflecting a serene demise.
A fish, dark, shatters the surface of the pool.
Its fins, craggy skyscrapers, scratch at the air expired by your lungs.
Ever so slowly, filing it, filing it away.
The shadow of the flying fish, forever suspended, hits your rippling toes at the core.
The shadow of the flying fish blocks you from my floating view.
There is only you now, in the silence.