The Blind Leading the Blind Lisel Mueller Take my hand. There are two of us in this cave. The sound you hear is water; you will hear it forever. The ground you walk on is rock. I have been here before. People come here to be born, to discover, to kiss, to dream, and to dig and to kill. Watch for the mud. Summer blows in with scent of horses and roses; fall with the sound of sound breaking, winter shoves its empty sleeve down the dark of your throat. You will learn toads from diamonds, the fist from the palm, love from the sweat of love, falling from flying. There are a thousand turnoffs. I have been here before. Once I fell off a precipice. Once I found gold. Once I stumbled on murder, the thin parts of a girl. Walk on, keep walking, there axes above us. Watch for the occasional bits and bubbles of light— birthdays for you, recognitions: “yourself, another”. Watch for mud. Listen for bells, for beggars. Something with wings went crazy against my chest once. There are two of us here. Touch me. -- p2: defenestrate --

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