The Daemons churn in the static of the walls,
rising and falling in labored breaths.
In the winds of this place,
or the cracks that line the canyons and pillars of the machine.
I don't see them in the water,
but I think it coincidence.
I know the towering of the ancients
and the placating of the fallacious.
I know the roots and stems
that bind the granite and the heat as one.
One that floats alone in the dark.
They float above my island.
The only small island in the universe.
That is all that was left for me.
All there ever was or will be.
The rolling water that is not water,
rolling and breaking on the yellow sanded beaches.
The sky above is a blue cool night,
with streaks of white and spots
to give the illusions of stars.
I've reached out to touch them
and felt no reply and no regrets.
My fingers flow through them
like they were ordinary air.
I palm them and blow through them.
They are simple things.
Mechanical strings.
A tag and a value that,
should be permitted,
will be solved before the end of even my little island.
I wrap my hands around the sands of the beach
on the edge of the boundless and illusionary infinity
that rests upon my lonely shore.
I grasp them in all of the mechanical vigor my rage can muster.
I throw them out into the void
with a howl that threatens to break down the walls of this creation
and the one that confines me.
And from the cracks that my rage made,
you emerged.
You.
As though you were waiting behind the curtain of my island's sky.
The only small island in the vast dark infinity.
I touch your arm and your ears.
You know how to speak and understand
as you come from the smallest cracks in the cold dark infinity.
Then you left to find another island.
Leaving me alone.
I think I will remember you,
but you were not the first.
I know that there were others before.
I suspect,
and the suspicion smells like memory.
I pray I won't forget you.
I pray I won't forget you.