I know no one now. Now I say "you". Now after the ground has opened up. Now after you died. I wonder what could beacon me forward into the rest of life.
I sing to you. I sing to you, Geneviève. I sing to you. You don't exist. I sing to you though. . When I address you, who am I talking to?. Standing in the front yard like an open wound.
I remember looking around a hospital waiting room. Full of people all absorbed in their own personal catastrophes. All reading books like "Being Mortal," all with a look in their eyes.
I don't want to live with this feeling any longer than I have to. But also I don't want you to be gone. So I talk about you all the time. Including the last day you were alive.
But I don't believe in ghosts or anything. I know that you are gone and that. I'm carrying some version of you around. Some untrustworthy old description in my memories.
A crow that's being dreamed. By a child who's being carried through the forest. Sleeping, wondering in her twilight half-awareness. Where her mother went.
I look through the big windows at the airport again. Far from home in 2014, disconnected and young. In my bag, a book of zen poems that I read and re-read.
In the morning it feels like coming into a clearing. And the disorientation lingers only for a breath. I hold the thought, a coal glowing on the wet ground.
"I tear in dreams across the north sea or I travel mentally wild. Through all million thoughts the mind sings.". No. Only this and from each "this". I crawl entangled into this.
Mind like a flower,. a flower falling.. A candle in the basement.. Nothing is real. but there is a spring inside.. . Waves breaking. still reflect the moon..
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Out past beyond the field. Inside the birches. Under rising steam:. A small room. . To prove I don't exist. To show that I am beyond. This animal form.
In the middle of November smashed on the rocks. At the edge of the island. A bright thing caught my eye, it was a pumpkin half. I walked to the bookstore in a rain that silently filled the air.
as long as i am drawing breath the world still exists. but when i die everything will vanish. the two of us are planets crashing through separate lives.
"More emptiness" I said,. "and more, and more.". When someone asked me. what was in my bag. I said "More emptiness.". Where the house is not. is where the room is..
i got close enough to the river that i couldn't hear the trucks. but not close enough to stop the roaring of my mind. these rocks don't care if i live or die.
There is a veil between me. and the bottomless sky.. Cloud or a sheet billowing,. the edge of my mind.. . Standing on the street. in the rain,. (unnamed and unknown).
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The foggy air around us was blinding,. The foggy sea was loud behind it.. It's foggy breath breathed it's water into our lungs,. And we curled up around it,.
I was born out of nowhere. And back to nowhere I'll return. But for now the river next to the house. The river inside the house, and a person's form. Disconnected and drifting in my boat.