crouched in time's box
while you own forever,
right down to the
last star writhing
in the crumbling dawn.
You forgot your identity,
that's all.
Sleek sail of moon
slashing through the
tunneling void of our
fears . . .
Take it, it's yours:
this strength you found at the
lotus feet of pain,
take it though the past weeps
like a stringed instrument
behind you,
but you don't turn around
because you know now,
you know they don't
own you:
these fossilized stories;
these keychain gods and monsters
on your way to Ithica;
all these unnerving, rattling
things, almost forgotten,
like spare change;
all your gawking
shadow selves dissolving
in a gold-infused new day,
finally untangled from your
sobbing yesterdays
when love was a lute played
in garnet and dreams.
So much better now
that it's real
and not wailing for more
and you're joyfully empty
as that moment
when the dozing world
receives the universe like
a net.
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