there is cold war relic blazoned with some future date certain on which you will be alone. and you will fall. you will be alone falling. this time not in spectacle but something like pageantry. eyes closed, you will see knights and banners, heraldry displayed in Kodachrome color, celebrating the alliance between you and the ground. when your salty skin splits, your eyes will open to a tired pale sky, unremarkable but for the silver feathered birds circling, a wake of vultures unsteadily soaring.