Words that cannot be unsaid
are indistinguishable from magic.
I uttered them without meaning to, for they already
had a life of their own and simply
demanded saying.
The spell is cast.
In the silence between us
a tectonic pressure
builds underneath distant waters—
but we mistake it for a dream,
something that can be dismissed.
I blink we both
try to snap out of it.
But under such pressure,
any disturbance is enough
a blink
the twitch of a finger
a stray heartbeat:
things have to shift.
Because of my words
we are now two villagers trapped
as the tsunami approaches,
eager to take away our artifices and edifices,
to make us rebuild everything.
You sigh to cast your mind elsewhere
I keep checking my watch
and each tiny gesture designed to avoid
knowing what’s coming
is really a fresh sacrificial offering
that only strengthens the spell—
because in the face of the end
everything we do takes on the aspect
of offering ourselves up.
No other act makes any sense.
My utterance itself, and all
that went before:
unwitting
offerings.
When the wave has passed
and we have nothing left
I will offer myself
to you,
this time knowing
it’s all I can ever do.