WL--of water--from its path

from its path

When the waterfalls began to flood, Kit went back to the psychiatrist. She told Dr. Wordling that the visualization therapy was a crock of worthless pscyhobabble and that something more than that was obviously going on.

She carefully enumerated the details, talking about the waterfalls flooding, how they swept away everything in their paths: thick ragged tree trunks, white picket gate posts, half submerged cars, dead rats, and assorted body parts flew down the flowing lights to pool in the bottom of the television screen. The debris milled crazily, stirred like a witch's brewpot, bubbling with unattached arms, screaming eyeless heads, left feet still in army boots. She described the streams of blood swirling through broken windows, torn rocking chairs, splintered computer parts.

She stopped. Looking out of the window at the winter sunny peaks beyond the office, she took a deep breath. They were both silent for a long time. When Dr. Wordling looked at his watch, Kit spoke evenly and deliberately, making the points as if she, too, were just another observer. "I saw Anna's hand in that path. I know it was her. I heard her voice as the water took her, carrying her off to nowhere as if it didn't care, as if it didn't know the difference between her broken body and an abandoned tire. "

The psychiatrist gave her Valium. Told her that everything would work out--her grief just had to take its own path. And to come back for another prescription if this was not enough to shake the nightmares.

the water / falls / in torrents / as if it were the only / force that mattered / sweeping / everything / from its path

the word is / the sound / of water / dripping from/ ancient symbols / tiny particles / of merging / realities