Communion

Last night I took communion with the stars. They danced with their flames, I with my eyes, our bodies perfectly still. They reached out to me, and showed me the veins that criss cross the universe. 

Listen to us, they whispered, our pulse beats around you – in the quiet room with a fan lazily turning, in the garden rimmed with flax – it presses against your skin and entwines your heart. You must weave us into cloth and drape us over people’s shoulders, they murmur, you must join the ones with glinting eyes and hardened backs, you must dance with your soul until the crescendo thunders and broils and then slowly abates.