Astral travel


Safe in the light that surrounds me.
Free of the fear and the pain.

Because the weight
of your words is heavy
on my chest, I decide
to rid myself of words
by leaving my body.

My mouth open, I utter
myself up the ceiling
like words with weed
smoke. No sound, no music,
all-seeing, all-hearing.
The silver-cord, an ancient
silver-hair that I must wear to tie me up
to the olden “Now” or “What ought to be.”

Floating above the staircase,
I figure the living-room, the sala set,
the sofa where it all started.
Past, present, future.
Far, near, here.
Pressing loudly against
my silent nothingness.

Then the vision comes,
wounding words like prayer,
bending time like light,
cracking the “Now” or
“What ought to be,” like mirror.

Knowing that you were always with me:
a mother’s lullaby,
a sister’s little prank,
a teacher’s faith,
a lover’s gaze.
Our silver-cords entwined
as when our hair gets entangled
and our tongues during an ancient kiss.

Because the weight
of your words had always been
and will always be heavy on my chest, I decide
to fill myself with words
by thinking of my body
by coming back. Uttering
myself to myself while you listen
inside me. As I am you
and you are me.


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