ORIGINS

I’m rising 
slowly 
from slabs of rock  
seeing 
beyond dreaming, 
for the first time. 
How long have I slept 
in this cave,
its patina
of centuries, dim 
in the yellowing light?
Where was I 
before my rising 
upward and outward 
into the air that draws me 
like a remembered child, 
wind sprouting wings 
so that I fly, face 
towards the earth, 
trees and foliage 
compliant 
in my soundless 
journeying? 

Night after night
I pass through 
walls of ancient houses,
walk into rooms
clearer than daylight; 
the substance 
of their absent 
dwellers 
imprinting the air. 

And always 
this silence
like an engine 
that moves me; 
this living, 
knowing thing; 
a chamber, invisible, 
all-transparent
 enfolding me. 

Seeing but unseen, 
I linger near 
but cannot hear 
the speakers’ voices 
or their words.  
Only the gift of sight 
is mine. 

     Flying near water. Fear. Panic. 
     Must pull back   Change course
     Cannot approach water 
     Turn back   I must turn back 

The Silence 
then releases me
into the 
more familiar 
space of dream 
so I may come awake
and set my feet 
on solid ground.

Long afterwards I learn 
some spirits crossing water 
never return.