xxi the world

I think I can hear the trumpets:
yes, they are calling us from up above

when she's here she is there, she's everywhere;
we can't fight the reverence, descending upon us–
feels like winning a race I never started

the skies open up
and her eyes are always so forgiving
her chains float beautifully
undeterred by gravity, so she is
a miracle, eternal divinity

she extends a hand;
I'm standing at the opposite end of the same
empty hallway
and the trumpets have ceased.

it's all silence now.
I come closer. my steps echo on the floor.
she keeps her composure. I think she looks familiar:
yes, that's me

dying

a place between the leaves to rest my head
as the trees sway
as the time runs beneath me
the quiet which precedes birth
and follows death
how we wish to feel that stillness in this flesh
a glimpse of what's ahead