Paths of the Reflection
A conversation with me, myself, and I
I
And above all to know you are infinitely insignificant. As if you have nowhere to go but up, which is certain.
But you look at the universe without duplicity like a two-way street with no division.
Like a chalk outline on the sidewalk blown into billions of fractions.
Like when you crack your own brain open to find more than you bargained for.
Every motive of you makes an offering, the cosmic wind abandoning them at your feet.
II
Cover the man you might be with the mask of who you are now, scare the boy you were.
The night you dispersed on the fog. It was the season of cold food.
And the thirst, the parchedness, me below the line, at the bottom, in this well, I drank, I remember.
To fallout like a warhead in a house of spirits amidst the silence of prayer.
Like someone who doesn’t want the thing. Not a thing. Not anything. Hot air. I forgot myself. Inside an infinity. In the wind. Every window shut and the hot wind inside.
III
In the blue seas of Despoina, the words were muzzled.
But the silence is certain. For that, I write. I am alone. I write. No, I am not alone. There is someone here who shakes.
Even if I say sun or moon or star or galaxy I am referring to things that I have done, things that have happened to me. And in this what did I desire?
I desired for a perfect infinity.
For that, I speak.
IV
Night has the shape of quiet.
I crawl out of my cadaver. Too much delight in getting lost in the image. On a pilgrimage to another universe. Pilgrim from myself, I have gone towards him who sleeps in a windward country.
I fall into the falling that no one expected me to fall and whoever is expecting me I saw nothing but myself there.
Something fractured in the silence. My last word was I but I was referring to the calmness of the luminous dawn, the way the colors cracked open the sky.
V
Yellow flowers constellate the corners of the Earth. The water quivers full of wind.
The birds called into an infinity this morning and I answered back.
I spilled over the dams today and I became me became the.
A hand unties the darkness. A hand drags a cornered boy by the skin who doesn’t stop passing the water’s edge. To return to the body, I must return these mourning bones, I must rediscover what my voice sounds like.
