I.

There is the before, the escape, being hurled into the rift gashing across spacetime the needlethorn layer pulled across skin. The words that are scrambled after your brain passes through the gap. There is the after.

II.

After the searing rush of information
there is silence.
Rooms blanketed in beige,
a bed soft as family would offer.

A statue of the Merciful Sibling,
covered in snow—
not the way you remember,
but allowing the comfort
of reoccurrence.

Crisp air grasping the lungs,
feet slipping on the sidewalk.
The body does not regain itself—
it stays other and yet yours.
Grit teeth. Remaining stubborn
and firmly evanescent.

This too shall pass
quoted as consolation;
and yet you prefer to stay
in the translucent moment
with balance not reasserted
knowing you are here—
you shall remain.

III.

To travel again you do not need to return to a previous unreachable state, only to construct a context to incorporate the memory. Embodiment is a struggle but it can be hard-going without rejection; you can hold onto the holding even after you’ve landed. Some metaphors exist across the gap. For the benefit of all sentience—you mutter, fingers curling. You take to the skies.

© 2018 by Bogi Takács