Aurora Borealis Shawn Tavenier Colours shower down around the horizon. They veil the stars in a curtain of green and blue. There is a kind of violence lurking among the things we do not understand; a cruel distance between what is known and what is hidden from knowing. This is the beauty that mesmerizes and the agony of being both alive and helpless which for the most part is largely ignored. I draw a deep breath and breathe hot steam into the night watching the frost melt outward to form a glistening circle on the car window. Above us part of the sky is turning crimson. 'This,' she says, 'is proof that God exists.' She lays back on the cool steel of the hood of the car and reaches her hand out to the blood red cathedral of sky. Later she sleeps as I sit awake. I write words, ponder beauty. On the other side of the window the cold night is shining like mercury. On the other side of the world the sun is rising over the sand. A body in a ditch plumes stench into the morning air. A jagged half of a minaret struggles toward heaven as the city around it burns bright like this northern sky. Published in Out/Words #1 (view contents)