Borderlands

It’s the first time
you realize
you’ve been born—
you were becoming—now
you’re being—

It’s the crossfade
of your memory—that one
time—you can’t discern
now—was it just
your imagination—

It’s the one dream
where it’s made to be seen
so clearly—
like an epiphany—
or an emotion—

It’s the fever
that comes over you—seeks
to mend you—takes you
somewhere else—
does it boil—
or does it burn—

You slide down
the neck—you feel for
where the waves start
wobbling—you put your
palms up—index to
the thumb—

It’s the medicine—
do you remember
your initiation—
did you take it
into your hands—what does
healing—mean
to you—

It’s the practice—
the moments of mastery
that reflect the mystery
infinitely—

Does it pluck at you
like a string—does it
drone—does it chime
like a bell—does it echo 
when I do this—

It’s the death—
like falling—
or the death
like flying—

It’s tomorrow
where intention
calluses—it shines in wait—
tomorrow—you will
surrender—



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