These things adorned

(This is the most recent piece in a project that begins here.)

— | – Who are these people? These people you talk of?
I don’t quite understand the tone, the pitch
How the question is asked
I blink at nomenclature
There is a provocation of error-correction but the code passes
A sequence of unconnected things occurring one after the other
— | – I don’t want this voice to be different.
It isn’t
It isn’t different
— | – It looks different.
We’re guests in these lands, you and I
I didn’t want to bring you
Though I didn’t want to prevent you from coming, either
Pause, listen
Reflect on the nature of balance
Nomenclature of the fingers
Each marker both icon and ballast

— I am in the back of a car.
The Beast blinks
— It’s very far away. I can see it. It’s far.
Blue discs regarding her as she speaks
The woman stops in-front of a tower
A large, circular hole with jagged edges permits observation of the city behind it
There is no wind and the various cables and jagged, broken girders remain undisturbed
High within the exposed spaces of the building, a man of middling years stands facing the hole
Looking down at the chaos of object, line and shape beneath him
Mug in hand
Lift
Drink
Lower
The other hand rests at the hip
He moves it to the small of the back
Leans and winces
Return
Pause
The woman turns her head
Towers with large holes
— I am in the back of a car and it’s being driven through the country.
Inhale
Blink
Exhale
— Lift my fingers, press them to the glass where I can see the reflection of the side mirror, the face I see reflected there.
And in the passenger seat, the figure replicates the action
— I perceive I can feel those fingers.
She feels the glass, cool against fingertips
Shapes coming into focus, blurring as she adjusts to the reflection beyond
She steps forward
Another step
The objects beneath her feet grind against one-another
Scrape
Sounding hollow notes pitched to their size
She lowers herself to squat above the wreckage
Panning the head
Eyes lingering on shapes but not processing
The impression of texture