Saturday, July 25, 2009

Journey Work

What do you remember about that night?
How could you ask me to go back there?
Do you remember that we walked about three miles
And stepped off the trail
That I allowed you to undress me
And that I began to lift up?
Crying 'my god' and swimming in moon,
Bitten, gnawing, bold, glinting,
Merging into cactus and rocks surrounding me.

Then, animals came into my body.
I shivered and flashed teeth in growl and howl.
You pulled me in against your chest and just held me.
Safe here, safe. Hold me, hold me.
You pulled my head up to face the night-smoked valley
And reached around from behind,
Taking my arms by the wrist, spanning them wide-
Wings shouting ‘I am here, I can fly’.
I poured out tears and shouted new words.

Your voice sounded far off and earthbound.
Then came the descending slide of irreversible laughter
Draining into the hot night.
I can remember everything to that point -
And here you are asking me to go again-
So when I tell you I can never go back
I say so not for the reason you may think.
You have been with me everyday since then
I can't go back because I never left.

July 25, 2009

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