Water

I am the knuckle curled beneath your hang-down chin, lifting against your ‘no’. I am the voice asking you to look up, look at me, look in my eyes. I have your secrets and I am keeping them, cradling them like helpless babies. You hold back, turn away. Refuse.

If you could look at me to see what floats like a ghost in the space between your eyes and mine, and what waits just beyond that ghost? Truths may take a different shape, may not bite, and bring another chance. Who else wants you to listen and what are the offered words? An answer for now may be just this much:

Have faith. Faith enough to know that you do have a soul, A soul that can cross the distance between here and wherever it seeks to go. You could let that curled little girl within you stand up, have its run into the mist that waits among the trees just beyond us. You have all you need to arrive.

When tears form at the corners of your eyes, they form then in mine. And they form all around us. They catch light and allow it to bend, shine, and catch color. Let ours be deep green. Let it be red or autumn orange. Let it be invisible. Let it be everywhere.

Transmission

Souls and the stuff of souls transit outside of time, link fingers across times, and draw sap from the embodied passions that we feel when they hover in chilled nighttime pockets, untethered to place.

We, from our earthbound circumstances, reprise our narratives, life after concurrent life, century after simultaneous century, grief after accumulated grief.

Say that when god exhales stars are born. Assert that divine instructions reveal themselves in stages and come foreshadowed in omens. Shout to me that no instructions ever existed or that god cradles us like babies. A being so monumental, could it be as though we never were?

When she departed, a hole opened. She left her body and went through. I wanted to follow and she said "not yet."  Do not speak of next, past, or departed.

She went there. I know she slips into me when a song arises in my heart or I find myself standing in the rain, alone, outside the front door to a home that is not mine, singing a song I'd never heard before.

In such implausible ways transmission occurs.