I Turned My Back

I Turned My Back A spirit casually approached, shat its parched load,   producing a small cloth it worked its hands furiously, fashioning of clay and soot something to assuage a deep yearning in its soul, something that looked, as it looked to itself. I turned my back to the left, my sight took in these images, touched to my core this phenomenon pierced hot like a steel blade, searing a scaring wound punctually within, permanently set.    I let out a scream, which carried back into the canyons and the recesses where smoke resides apart from fire, where water breaks into its separate molecules. A world-like landscape emerges from a thinning air, dusty and rough in texture, sprouting forth smallish shrooms in iridescent hues, resembling footprints in snow they shimmer and vibrate. The spirit and itself have moved in and around this landscape before, leaving their footprints, their mark. The immediacy of my experience continues to pierce impressionably, I am now a marked man, my goal; adapt consciously.