Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Body and blood. 

Tonight the sky cracks open. The horizon disappears. Flames lick the forest and girls shed their skin. Crazed creatures crawl from their corpses, calling to the moon. Stars find their homes in our shattered hearts.

“Dangerous eyes, Dolly.” You trace your damp finger beneath them, darkening their danger with sodden black. We poured water in last night’s ashes and made a paste- a muddied disguise. You move to Jack, who trembles, lit up by lust. We dust his cheeks with cracked blush, remnants of before. Now Fiachra, now Adam. Cross-legged, we indulge in so-called indecency, inverting our god-given names. 

Feilim wears my gown. He radiates a new godliness, Aphrodite reimagined. Red lips parted in ecstasy, the joy of discovery. And you, June. I almost cry at the sight of you, kneeling in the dirt, sleeves rolled up, coaxing the flames. I blush at your boyish girlhood; the promise of a new frontier.

The air glistens, trees and darkness shifting, colours where they shouldn't be. 

We stumble for the trees, laughing gleefully, singing, stumbling. You fall into step with me, your sweat sparkling. We lose the others, finding a hollow in the forest, an oasis of emptiness. The moon shines only on this clearing, illuminating you in silver. The grass glitters. You look at me through half-lidded eyes and stretch your hand to confirm my existence. At once, we’re fervent– hands, hair, cheek, neck.

Two serpents coiling to form one song. 

Later, I lie on your chest. The silence is disturbed by a peal of laughter. Voices echo.

Suddenly you’re standing, shoving me from your breast. Eyes flashing, breath catching. You’re feverish, frantic. You’re scaring me. I try to reach you, try to drag you down to earthly existence but you stare, horrified at something I can’t see. My eyes find the cross. Glaring, beautiful, white-hot at the nape of your neck. It’s brilliant and it’s burning you. 

The intersection of awe and fear.

Red welts rise around it, I push myself to stand. Your rabid eyes roll and snap. I grip the crucifix and strain, pulling it from your neck despite your clawing hands. You scream: piercing, heartbreaking, a pain that doesn't match the scene.

The glow, the glitter, the sound stops. Everything is silent. 

You were buried in December. The nuns cried tragedy and claimed you died in your sleep, your sins absolved to save their names. I was exiled, sent away. I missed the funeral. Madonna and the wretched whore. Praise the sacrifice, avert your eyes from the corpse.