Another Home

Having flung wide the doors of my soul,

once a vault, now a cathedral—

no, a monument to Suns—

I am opened like a house,

like a humble abode, windows and everything,

the Sky streaming in in shafts of light,

the sparkling of dialogue

to flow in and through

and out of my being, I am ready,

I am aswirl, a concrete laughter,

a tangible ecstasy, dominion of the stars

upon the soils of the earth:

I am carved into the mountain,

I am made

out of the purposeless sorrow of stone

into the fashioning of statue,

then the motion of the living,

loving thing, the real tale,

the truth unfolded and the sparrow sung,

the branch befallen on the ground,

the rapture tasted, child

of my history knelt by the river's side

and drinking in the endless tomes of Time,

rivers of euphoric ink

imbuing all being,

existence

begotten like a Song,

the riddle embraced. I am rivulet

and Ocean, the swirling Seas of Time,

the waters of Eternity

and at the shores of the vastness of the Heavens,

I am a flurry in the Sky,

a thread in the fabric, quilt,

leather's resilience but the former's

softer chime, when the Wind buries its face

into my placeless heart, a love

more real than mine. 

12/20/2016

Richmond

af. Book 5, Unit 3, Section 20

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada