Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Air


NASA : Yukon Territory

I. visibility

I still see you in the shape of
your clarity, moving with such 
strange speed, almost like light
yet slow as our hearts 
beating underwater

Running in a layer beyond 
this fake backdrop painting
where you can't be seen but 
where your true body emerges,
your skin, your hair, your breath
somehow more real, more 
whole, more urgent and alive

Yet it's all unsayable
—you said you speak my language
but I don't even have the words to bridge
this chasm you know nothing of 
crossing or even falling into

Do you know it's all there, all 
free for the taking, your riches, 
your weapons of song, of story—
this great divide that waits for you to
see its vast space that invites us to play
and revel in its air, compels our very
movement, that is even joy—

Joy that is the unspoken word
that is the forbidden saying
that is the code to the passage
where the scrolls enfold secrets
that lead to the caves no one's
yet discovered



II. invisibility

There's a holiness that descends
when you step into a dark place
untouched since creation. Its quiet
ambushes your being and you know
the ground is a threshold you
can't escape unchanged—

—and the voice you longed to hear
all your life doesn't come from behind,
yet suddenly you know this language
and it knows you. All your words
annihilated and remade.

This is why we understand nothing
now. Why you look at me and feel
the ache of waste, why what I see I 
can't say or pull out of the soil of this
field I bought with everything  I owned. 
We can't bring ourselves to name it
for fear of looking down and finding we've 
been walking blind through air all along.

If this is all there is, then why do I
see how all of what you show the world
is just crackling bark, and the loss of it
doesn't mean death as you think?

Why do I see the true skin of what
could grow around the mass of you,
smooth and firm and fitting the whole of
your layered years, you instead like an aspen
with someone sitting in your shade, writing
letters on the substance of what you shed? 

And yes, why do I still believe
that faithful sun will rise tomorrow
when this cave I've slept in my
whole life has told me it's all a lie?

As a child, I saw it: 
why do they say 
that we can't see air
when air is what 
makes us seen?

You tell me.

I know you
still are there.