No logs or ledgers disclose the coming
of March's cool and even night,
or the summoning of the ghost
frozen in a sea of reflection.
The floes crack, part -- drift away,
and the ghost fractures into a thousand selves,
some sinking into the web of the body
in a fight against the flesh. Others,
tumble into the hollow of the mind,
and crash against the bones.
But one piece, finding a way
to divorce the heart,
the fuel of the lungs,
uncouples and falls
as a new sum of thought
riving the air with imagined arms
cooling the sun on a believed back
arching to meet an ocean
of gas fire blue.
Warm contact muffles the sound of the sea
flushing the mouth with the taste of ice and salt,
until in teal and twinkling darkness
a new sense of me rises.
Whorl and hiss of the world streams through us,
sculpting our dreams as the coda of a day,
the added bill of a life. Decoded secretes
taking uncertain journeys where place,
are always different.
Perchance an acropolis of silent stone and roan of weeds.
Perchance a city, and a strangers shape.
The stillness of the morning and other forms of softness.
The staircase to a basement, a fox across a field,
the smell of the rain. Perchance.
Impermanent waves crash against my calves
as I stride forth from the well-spring of my soul
and smile at the chosen memory;
the place where we first met.
I wander past figures frozen in time
finding her turning to the moment
where her eyes first found me.
I take my place, assume the pose.
Not long now.
The visions come to life,
the dance begins,
and we move in rhythm
on feet that are not our own.
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