There are mornings I wake to silence after many dreams of you. And what is my crime? When I put my face to the world it is always smiling. Though my heart is bottomless and moonless, I take nothing. I walk the raked earth, pass the tall mountains, eat and survive on my eclectic human passions.
I feel born. I feel I’ve never been born.
One book has it that you came from the snow. Another claims it doesn’t matter. I stoop like an immigrant under your sound. I go walking beneath a bread of stars and think of you, on the edge of madness, I walk with a thousand questions in my heart.
Time can only transcribe in passages. It is almost unbearable. I have been fluttering like a little moth around the light of Tell Tale Signs. I sometimes think of the hours, the years….
elsewhere life continues, the hammer strikes. I return to you. With a firm grip.
It’s a miracle.
