Photo, Aaron Draper
An ancient dream,
if you will…
shoulders unarched
i walked into the water
paying no heed to the waves
giving no mind to the imminent storm
my spirit emptied of discernment
my core hollow of presentiment
pure as a newborn
whose gaze falls blue and unfiltered
i walked
i plunged
i bathed
in the cistern of secrecy
my body jarred and amplified by
the keen obscenity of this new unknown
unknown, that was, to anyone but me
sorceress! i called myself
a torrent of names i lashed
at my own eyes and cheeks
how long before the burden of truth
affixed itself to me?
how long before the self-drawn blood
stained the cold sand floor?
I’d like to shake the memory of that dream
like I shake my hair when I emerge
from the froth of the sea.
I’d like to wrest the reality of it
from this reality.
I’d like to…
but doing so would be
a denial of self.
And who am I to deny me?
So many others have tried and failed.
I rest, instead,
fierce and flaming
inside this masted body,
a stirring yet unsung intermezzo—
an ivory circumference of byzantium patience.
* * * * * * * * *
NOTE: My first poetry chapbook, From Darkness, Beatitudes, is scheduled to be released June 2014 from Finishing Line Press.
