When the earth first split, the only sound was a deafening crack. A fire struck by an ethereal whip. Straight to death, despair, and an overwhelming burden. 

We had failed. 

I tried to fight it with every ounce of strength, with every conceivable idea. But it just continued to race across the stars and smash our lonely planet. We figured it was harmless. It’s trajectory bobbed and weaved around blackholes, stars and debris. Every few days under our careful watch it swerved like a buzzard in the night.   

Once a month, stars blinked from existence as if they had been eaten by the endless darkness.

You know those times when someone says something so direct you jostle your words and act as if you were pushed from the inside-out.  Or when a rabid animal blocks your path then whimpers, simply afraid.

When the world split, we were given time–not enough time. Simple and small time to say our goodbyes.  Though, the feeling was odd as our souls left the ground, spread across the Corbid Sea, flew over Mountains high enough to grasp the world. In the final seconds, what we perceived as moments, what we saw as the life streams–the translucent, azure streams and waves woven together, a wicker basket containing the tapestry of life. It showed the goddess. And showed death not far behind. 

Death was assured.
Inevitable. 
For sure.
Given.
Taken.

Everything combined, the little pieces disappearing, everything became one with the simple existence to be, together forever, no longer able to be an individual. Collective intelligence gave way for rebirth, the crackling obsidian fires consumed the first, second, the infinitely branded construct that was our minds.  

As our consciousnesses formed into a single entity. 
The birth of a star.

With obstructed view, we burn the world, a match head
burnt through time
A leaf caught in never wind, a flickering spec
A grind,
Like minds glued together
A dog obsessed with packs—it all fades

and leaks and withers,

Water in the air,
Steam across the pipe.

The world becomes breathless.