Tomorrow at the fountain

The craters on the moon are insignificant tonight. Old things don't mean anything to you

right now. Not when you're feeling like this. The shadows of those trees, the mountains that

stare over you, the occasional left over cloud from a rainy day lit by the moon, 

it means nothing. 

The ancient rain that runs down the hill, fills the puddles, like it always has, wets your feet,

it's irrelevant tonight.

You're standing at the bar now, your shoes squeak. 

Your thoughts are loud but you still can't make out the lyrics. 

Everyone around you is percussive.

A timpani of tongues bumping around their mouths, clacking lips smack around their faces,

as they laugh and banter. 

Slapping backs, 

jangling coins, 

flapping notes, 

slugging drinks, 

tapping footsteps.

Quick noise that never stays. 

But then she glides past like a flute in the racket. Like a shark from the fog, sliding down a

grassy hill, swimming through the blades in the night, belly grass-stained green.   

She willingly scatters her glances all over you. 

Her eyes shine like shattered glass in the moonlit dew. 

Your coins twinkle when the moons out like this, 

glorious. 

Coins are counted for one more when the moon's out like this. 

You can't think. You loose your coin count.

It's not a good sign as the barman hovers, 

you can do this, just focus. 

It's done.

Well done.

 But you look around and she's gone like a shark in the trees.

A thick-armed drummer swings around with a laugh. His elbow hits your face. Your own

tooth pierces your own lip. Your own blood dribbles out. 

Where did that come from? It's like you've been exposed to something you cant perceive.

The drumming stops around you, someone places a beermat under your bleeding face, you

don't make eye contact, you can't. You just look down. The barman returns with your drink,

but offers you his cloth instead. Who do you think you are? Sitting in the bar with your

blood face. 

The blood runs from you, but you cannot run from it on a night like this. 

She appears, 

the flute,

the shark,

but this time she's a bird on your shoulder, only she's too big for your shoulder and she's got a tissue. 

You drain into her tissue.

By the time you leave you've stopped bleeding and you have a name: Anna. 

And a number: 4. 

And some letters: p and m. 

And a place: the fountain.

And a day: tomorrow.