Akhil IV

The sky in the river and the stones below. Proud kingfisher flashing. Achilles, erupting fire, walks down the center of the road. The quick talent of the killing hand. Wrath. Javelins. Quick water passing over black stones, black as iron, covered with orange algae like rust. Iron, thrust, to separate the shoulder from the neck. Geometry of broken torsos scattered like leaves before him, blood over sand, blood coursing through a holy armature. Arms sprung like wire, spear arcing it's radius, whistling and ruinous. His measured breathing. Achilles goes room to room. Throats opened blossoming like wild hyacinth. There are dragonflies skimming for meat over quick water, the gray-white skin of the sycamores flayed, there is the sky in the river and the stones below. Stone wet and translucent, look deep to witness the universe inside, the thin difference between god and monster.