The shockwave hits your throat so fierce, it forces your own voice from your own body. The momentum it contains, unconstrained by your silent spectre rushes forward like thunder into the levee of your knees, and strikes the way lightning fells trees. You're nothing but lymphnodes, flood and weight, now. The rest, like last night's dream washing away the moment before you remember. The aftershocks ripple like echoes, capsaicin in the nerves of all your timber limbs dismantled and thrown to the horizon. You hover above what it felt like to exist. It rests on the tip of your tongue, a moment. Nobody really knows the difference between a moment and eternity. Below the folds of water, sweat and skin the ground is offering whispers bubbling soggy underfoot. They might be yours. They say it comes from the ground up Channels reaching channels to connect in a flash a crack again to body even if only a moment.