Wheeling Gull Isle tilakurak

there was a body in the field.

its limbs were arranged like a content cat's. its face a mask of postmortem peace. its fur was sheenless and coarse. butterfly men landed along its features.

it breathed, slow and heavy. the dark mass of its fur shrunk and expanded.

there was a boy in the field.

he was life revived. loamy earth grounded him, slate enhanced him. his eyes bore the color of venomous things. he had a juvenile curiosity, larger than the danger of reality.

the body's eyes slid open, slow, irises rolling before the shroud was done lifting. 

the vitality of child did not please the long-dead.

it watched the boy, his face in thistles. the butterfly grooms departed from its fur. 

did he know the kinds of wreaths one could make of the christ's crown?