The End of Skin
Published in
May 15, 2021
These leaves are hands -
trembling like a desert
Can I hang my pinkness on a peg,
let this be the end of skin?
Can I wave away the body,
simply say, ‘I Am’?
For years now
‘I’have longed to have no ‘I’
to call my own
wish only to tumble and crest
a lonely sea back into the ocean
- a child kissing a divine stone
Can ‘I’spin on its axis to
catch itself, become the contortionist
of consciousness
- do I hire Houdini?
Or a master of Advaita?
Show me this portal Lord,
I am turning and
cannot escape this heat -
my trembling turned to flapping
Perhaps I am ready, my time here
rung like a ladder
‘I’descended long enough
I will flap and go home
COPYRIGHT Simon Heathcote
© Simon Heathcote 2021
