Layered experiences distilled into stanzas
left to be lived long as life, breath lasts.
Endless lists, words rich and heavy,
repeated “or”s, commas – little waves rising o’er me,
but heard with my own voice,
unintelligible, yet clear as sleep-sounds of an unconscious throat.
To unlock the cipher – to inhale the air of understanding –
is all that what worries me more than staying below the surf.
Head held under not by one seeking Forms, nor by the bearded Shade, but by my own windows –
reflectors that have lost the will to wander.
To turn away, to abandon,
is breath. To continue,
is life. A world with images unseen?
Or a realm of labored inspiration and blind vividness.
Shade, did you have to choose as well?
Or were you born with the gift of breathlessness?