to see what items lay there for my acceptance, removal.
The contents were the same, no matter how many
layers I peeled.
Then I opened my eyes and everything changed.
The single viewpoint is not certain––
the multitude are waiting to be uncovered.
Push against the idea that an algorithm
will decide who goes forward.
Sense of smell came later and was intoxicating.
Four walls, inert, unless you push
with unceasing labor
and work your way out
Touch, the most far reaching of the senses––intimations of death.
I heard the laboring in my mother’s womb,
I sensed the grandness of what lay beyond,
I wept and wept when I heard that song
and still it did not hear me.
Life and forgotten breath.
With listening comes––