Your warmth whispers to the core nestled here and sometimes I fear will never shine me to the heights. . .
Days I drown in moist and soaking seep, permeating all the dreams asleep,
feeding notions of motion dancing in fleeting caresses warm, cool, cold, wet, frozen, hot, so hot…why do I know these that I do not know?
I do not know dark or light or sight but smell and taste and well, oh well, oh well, oh well…but still…this humming recognition of what I do not know bespeaks so much
straining, straining in my core is the knowing what is not known because somewhere back there on a hill I knew and grew taller for decades, surpassing the oldest man in town and sinking more deeply into all that buries me now, shelters and haunts of nothing else but darkest nourishing all around, fleeting sensations of warm,
warm echoes of radiance bringing me to green…but this, this is now, this burial shroud speaking back the glory clouds and birthing me to the death of this place, of this no face.
And all this, all this soaking speaking permeation is all
your warmth whispers and calls, stirs my need, all that is me and drowns my days
in night I would not know had I not known you once before.
jrk © 2006, 2010