Photo, Aaron Draper
An ancient dream,
if you will…
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
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.