In the darkness of isolation
In the void that was the mind,
it was like entering a vast mangrove
decaying under the skin of what’s left behind.
Discovering the discarded
words reverent with sweat,
rain-wet and intimate
beads coarsing over mossy limbs.
Stream swollen red runoff
from slopes in a deluge of thoughts.
Once inside, you reach for the quiet.
Lost in a riot of bramble
held in the chaos as you scramble
along parallel paths.
The air is thick with flies
forbidden fruit feast on echoes and cries
carried over from emotions
that which is all too human.
Quivering in a pool of your reflection,
hidden faces barely seen in shifts of light
emerging from a canopy
dense enough to hold out the sky
porous enough to bear the sublime
pit pat pattern of droplets
like unseen footsteps all around you,
trickling to accompany the past
that parallels this stunning topography.
The forgetting is everywhere.
Become partner to the trees
so it won’t leave you bare.
Your roots meander
in tendril searching over the floor
with jungle longing
for something solid
amidst the rumor and folklore.
This insatiable siege
suggests the answers will be relieved
into the ink-fed precipice of words
spreading at your feet.
Going over the falls
and through narrow ravines,
down the halls of hidden trauma
into hollow caverns of forgotten dreams,
the scarred remnants of its impression
seems to inform your progression.
Going deeper by broken fingernail
darker by heavier breathing
deeper where the blood runs colder
in the currents of the largest ocean,
you won’t stay afloat much longer,
sinking beneath the surface
of a pull that is much stronger
than any resistance you could muster.
Deeper where the sun won’t shine
darker on the underbelly of the sea,
where I’ll still be scratching for the light
in the night you give me.
The ocean sometimes spares its knowledge
but holds a secret share
of shells to contain
that which remains vacant,
claimed by accident
gathered by the net
you set beneath the structure
of its perpetual geography.
This ship is bound for the imaginary.
Its dimensions wound in a translucency.
When the faith of its course
gets severed from any link,
it spirals down the drain
like a tiny fragment
in a giant sink.
before being lost at sea,
your vessel got tangled in the Sargasso,
scattered in the brightened debris.
It goes where the sun dies,
radiant was its last expression,
bobbing on the horizon,
its final ecstatic recession
into the night.