to kiss the shore, awaken in the mounting breeze
flavored with predelictions past.
Can I see myself in the light that comes to my sleep?
There is a to be.
Distance cries motes dancing repeated steps
of tales, the whisperings of clouded vagueness set
the barren curtained stage.
A tinyness swells to chant in a clearing sky of my
likeness, to exist.
Remember is laughter's sorrow cast naked but
not free, girdled in virgin experience transforming to
a mutated real life.
What happened breathes a breath in a pregnancy
still, yet vital.
Paintings come in vivid colors, not a thousand
words, but spectres of the probable, possibility end.
Gathering framing.
What grows absorbs the being, permutations mount
to speak tongues.
Open the eyes of destination, tension licks thin
outer edge to dawn excitement, to bring realization
true beginning.
Taste the tastings, touch the boundaries lining, scent
the scentings.
Faint confusion strains to resolve the crystal facets,
the calling faces. Draw the veil, odored disappointment
its own tang.
There is, what?, pain fresh to the webbing just tearing
now an opening.
I scream to the hand clutching destiny, all my being
falls to the dust. It is here, a collar, a yoke to plow,
breaking earth wet.
Splash the pool, struggle to the surface, slap the waters.
I am.
� 1999 David P. McClellan.
