Donna to Laura Palmer
Through the darkness of future past the magician longs to see. One chants out between two worlds. Fire walk with me. —Twin Peaks
She said chime, she said horn flies, she said cleave to the walls of the Lodge. We avoided the stain on the mattress; kept to separate continents. She said salt, hay, thistles, and mussels that cling to the logs where the river gorges into the sea. I heard moored boats groaning in their slips and called out to her fine bones that refused to be named. I said straighten your spine, walk forward, and pray the forest retains its shape despite the burning. She placed a black cloth over my eyes to create a certain conflagration and described to me the rabbits’ keening and the foxes’ small teeth igniting fires in the straw. This was where we stepped and also the places we avoided; this was where we inhaled and exhaled and tried everything, but she could only climax to pain.
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