on steam, on shreds of dream, through air, through stripe and stare, comes (flickering, fluttering, flowering, flying) the drifter who dances with the dying. from dim and distant draws he nearer, nower, closer, clearer; settles on a line of sight, stretches slowings in the light. antennaenact anticipation, compound eyes connect in concentration. membranes’ markings tilt to mimic predator’s gaze, the pulse of night’s times and the patience of day’s, in rhythm with the breath that slows now, drawn on down towards death.
some say life flashes before the eyes. they forget six other senses; their rise and roil, their fall and foil, their bleeding and blending here at the[ir] ending. taste moves through time-sensedistance undisjointed, undiminished; half-heard sounds take hold of halted motions, each one finding finish in the other’s fulfilling. but most of all (for most of all, who find, surprised, they’re willing), the consensusurrus Silkwing brings has twined a touch to sighted things, and looming large now in unifie[l]d view he brings the breather to and through his tawny tingling texture, melting marron smooth as broad is bright, and on beyond in softer, softest color of the night.