Moments of Dawn

The dawn writes me. 

I am written. 

I am written by the dawn, and the cracking open of the sky by the light. 

What secrets are found folding between the clouds? And the bird wings, can you hear the soft thrushing of the coming summer winds? 

thrush, thrush, thrush, 

to trust in a heart beating, in a world turning, in a griever grieving. 

I do not deny my thoughts. Whatever comes to me, however profane, ugly, coarse, or rude, I usher it in like a lost and chilled child. I have come to care for you, I say. I give to you as much attention as I do the thoughts that please me, send shivers of excitement through my body. Is this true equanimity? Not throwing the baby out with the bathwater? 

Today part of a past me graduates with my peers in Boston. A ghost of me, a used to be. It tickles me, the passing of time… The choosing of the paths, the destiny, the seemingly and apparently strong hand of fate I see guiding it all… I am not here by a mistake, make no mistake about that! Purpose fills me, and I follow, follow, follow… Hollow and I follow. 

My ovaries are elsewhere. My ovaries remember. 

I am excited to see you again. to feel your warm and strong hands. on my body. To see the sparkle in your eye. To feel the steadfastness of your devotion. To share a meal, a moment, a glance into the ethers and the depths, with you. To feel your pleasure as if it were my own. To enter into a union, a place of understanding and tenderness. You are so funny to me sometimes. We are very different, and yet, we can come together. This is the wisdom of us. 

I speak like an old woman sometimes, I hear. I hear her in me. This certainty or this confidence in the truth I speak. This is the wisdom of us. A statement, not a question. Are questions borne of the youthful and statements borne of the elderly ? To have both thriving and feeding inside of me! To feed both inside of me. 

I scour the internet looking for pictures of you… Where could you be? Should I check here? I want to see you, as you are now… even if it is a picture frozen in time, I long to see you. To read through the still image how you are, how you are holding your body. This is how I feel close to you. How I remain close to you. Do I not trust that this closeness lies in my own beating heart? That you are IN ME? That you will always be? Do I truly believe that there is any way we can be apart from each other?

I whisper to the night in my claw foot bath tub,,, who are you? Who are you? Who are you? Will we ever be free? Costa Rica, I felt a moment of womb longing to return to the jungle, this place that has held so much of my life so far, so much of my unraveling and returning… One day I will return there, and grieve for the time spent, wandering, feel joy for the time spent wander, getting lost, returning, honing in on something pure 

You radiate in me like a sun and I cannot spread my wings enough to capture the gaze of your bright bold eagle 

An age stalks me like an old woman predator I weird my sheath, sword and wonder out loud 

`How have we come here? On the back of a star? Do I come from the ocean?` 

Questions whispered, unanswered, animal like I see now, why I worship the animal inside, it knows something that this mind cannot wrap itself around

I drink dandelions and open to the truth of my spine. IT has become jaded, in parts, my spine. It does not remember how to be fluid and let go. Does it not remember or am I only halting the remembering somehow? 

Recording the sound. The sound that will heal, trance, trance sound. 

I hear the melodies resolving and revolving in my head, and I wonder, `Where does your dream begin and mine end?` How are we intertwining? Weaving a tapestry of dreams together across time and space? 

The language of dreams is music. The language of dreams is images. I trust images completely. I am beginning to.