Take my hand in this field of dreams for I walk blinded by the sun,
feeling the warmth shining each step onward,
fragrances stirring me along a path moist, unknown, calling me home,
a home beyond anything I know now,
a home whose call has always haunted
every footfall,
every dance,
every stumble
across the rubble of loss,
apathy,
sabotage…

Take my hand so I can feel your substance
and know my own in this field of things not yet seen
but felt from before my life emerged
to express love-as-me-as-all…
take my hand so I can remember what it’s like to be known,
known not by some conceptual vision,
or with mental metallic machinations posing “me,”

known with feltness no words can seize,
and no change can unknow.

Take my hand…

2 thoughts on “Take My Hand…

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