My tyeer
battered and sluggish
I reach and it nestles into my hand
"You're looking a bit worn, old friend?" I offer
"How was the day's energy spent?"
The speaking mechanism is breaking down
"We won some
we lost a few
on the whole, I'd say we made a difference."
"Who can ask more . . ."
One last flicker and my tyeer passes
With weathered hands
I remove the seed pack from its belly
and discard the remains
I place the seeds in the stream
under a rock
they will prosper through the night
My hands do not warm
after I pull them from the water
I lift one of the dream crystals
so treasured early in the day
now hopelessly clouded
I throw it into the stream
I find the sonic drill
search the hillside for another deposit
Yes
there
right there . . .
I find the geode vein
I painstakingly carve the humanoid geode figure
With failing strength
I wrestle the inanimate form into the stream
I lift the instrumentation
and place the stimulators
The work done toward midnight
I light a fire
wrap the rags of the day around me
Yes
on the balance
a good day.
William C. Burns, Jr.
