Fleeing velvet walls of pristine night. The journey aided by the wailing baby’s cry.
Moving, gliding half-aware of prying eyes and misforgotten deeds. I slide thorough this incarnation, a journey on the back of sea turtles and uprooted flowers.
You cannot see how real this is.
You cannot connect with the distance traveled, yet
Backwards viewing offers a moments calm. The steady gazing shakes me, suddenly awake to dawns imminent birth.
When all the cry’ are silent and the Earth shakes loose her turning. I am born in the flesh of thought and steel so soft to the touch . It makes woman to cry and weep with joy. This flesh of steel, the strongest enigma.
Sounds, like a mad-mans shouting at the moon.
Wake up to the crisp new air of day. Wake up to smiling faces greeting you with open arms and half-thought lives.
Sounds a lot life to me… sounds a lot like some strange Gregorian chant.
Life This Life
Rescued only to breathe deeply purgatories fumes. much too briefly to gather stones at the beach.
Now from the Top looking backwards to our lives from the first. When everything tasted like gingersnaps on a dewy Spring day, hot, sharp, crisp… life’s a lot like that
backwards views affording a sweetness seldom seen in the present tense.