• 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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