What Lies Beneath ~
Take a long breath.
Hold it deep so that your lungs can remember,
then plunge your face into the water,
breaking the surface holding the world in silent stasis.
Push your arms through,
climb out of the looking glass and cut the binding threads on the broken pieces.
The garden awaits you once you fit yourself to the doorways,
but keep your notebook with the passwords to hand…
There are sculptures tossed like salt over a shoulder,
in disbelieving patterns.
While you walk among them,
for the telltale drag of the grass as they turn and follow,
pickpocketing your realness in hope that it will see them safely
across a different kind of border,
through a gate of other lineage,
for there are pilgrims beyond all imaginings who search.
Paint the sky with the colors running wild,
darting across the path,
etch the leaves on those stark lineless trunks,
marching in sentinel rows,
a blank template for your vision,
your forming words,
Have you written your destination?
Have you spoken clearly into the recording wind so that intention has no muddied cloak to twist behind?
You have broken your world in your desire
to see what lies beneath.
What you bring to this table is shaped by your tongue,
and you must guard it like a tiny pearl hidden amidst the graceless teeth
in your mouth,
disguise it like symbols tattooed in the folds of your fingers,
as you hold your hand up to the light and trace your prints on the sky
to mark the ways in and out.
What landmarks have you dreamed?
Will you sow with curses?
Will there be a bitter harvest and blood red winter?
Or can you hold the tiny doves gently in your hand and call them by their true names
emptied of the arrogant and the driven…
This place beneath,
bought with pain and the highest price of letting go,
shivers on a razors edge..
Will you be an inhabitant
or an infestation?
Do you have the tenacity
to see yourself safely through?
To show all your dark and all your light and hold yourself like a tower against the battering,
accepting the storm,
while never bowing to it.
You have gone beneath,
can you find your way back to the surface?
Turn your back on the northern lights play of your fantasy selves,
their bumbling first steps,
with cut hands raggedly bound and drawing in great shuddering breaths.
And keep that robins egg of revelation,
of wonder ,
of the shadowed
close cupped against your stomach.
Written over, covered in the rivers ink that will not fade,
curved like swan feathers,
until you unlace your fingers and let them flutter,
watch them rise courageously on the air and filling on the light.
Your fingerprints dappling on them
spreading like symbols infusing a map.
to forge a new way back.