I disappear in the night.
I relish my privacy in a world I did not invent.
I cherish every moment, though time does not pass.
I wonder when I will arise, perhaps never.
Who will hear my cry? No one.
The silence of the night is twice over.
Qualities of silence enhance our lives, but we are deaf to them.
The shutters closed. We are six floors under.
This strange cruise knows no day, no night.
We lose sight of the solstice, Borealis, practicum.
Limbo is not a game.
I am frightened of what lies ahead.
I can no longer hide behind fame, hoards of things,
Or my wings, of which I have none.
Waiting in line my view is only of the shirt back ahead.
We are all in time. Marching in time.
The silence is deafening. The deeper the silence, the less
This state of limbo, this excruciating silence,
This endless waiting, strips us clean.
Like babies we enter the New World
Through portals of ivory and gold
Floating in mid air.
Meanwhile what to do back on earth
With bones, muscles, blood, brain, heart,
All rotting, rolling, standing, running,
Back on earth, showing gratitude
For the taste of
Fresh basil, ginger, cinnamon,
Fresh scented jasmine, lavender,
Fresh touched her neck, thighs, lips
Fresh heard seas, winds
All of us, now.
Makes sense, all of this, makes sense.