July the ninth night

that night they laid me down and told me stories of the earth, I saw the lights and the faces that poked into my skins for the remnants of the past, the flow, the pulse. The whiteness of the world was coming onto me and I was vanishing in the vapors of an infinite silence, and they asked me to count seconds. The hours began to separate me from myself, and I started floating, drifting like logwood in an unknown forest where no birds would wake me up with their chirping stories of the air. Something inside was calling for a birdsong, a melody over the canopy where they laid me down that night.

Nov 07