The Blue-Eyed Seminole

A judge granted us each a restraining order against the other, but that was already three 5-year cubes of human time past its expiration lagging behind like a momentary and lifesaving act of cannibalism when we both ate mushrooms from an autistic shaman and yours didn't have any effect because of the type of antidepressant you were on and mine didn't show me my spirit animal but we were able to figure out between us that yours is The Blue-Eyed Seminole. I'd like mine to be Dick Van Dyke or Shamu but it turns out that under current circumstances the two of us together must follow this single Earth man's moonlike and scantily clad glow. Parts of our brains can see him glaring down from the face of a painting or standing out in the yard. He tracks but does not intervene in the volatile triad of bastardized great Danes, the result of breeding experiments, a poltergeist that has formed in our sphere of responsibility, a small sphere, admittedly, and which challenges us in nearly every moment to be strong and to rise from our cares enough to impose order on our house, a house of ancient nobility and brotherhood with nature, Her silt, her DNA, coating the carpets paintings books coats; our family shield, 3 dogs playfully trying to mount one another ad infinitum, reminds us to be alive to the teeming animas, all of us creatures with fears and desire. We follow our guide blindly and groggily. As we sleep we see his silhouette in the glowing blue rectangle, the bluish scar on our optic canvas from hourly superhuman forays into virtual dimensions. We see The Blue-Eyed Seminole cast a heavy blanket on a flare of anger or when he sparks a desire to get out and walk. His eyes don't tear up in the bitter cold, but his cheeks become livid and fierce. We had to trek this far to find him on his turf. It feels to me but it's hard to say for sure if he's the one who will lead us through the borderlands. 

by Jan