I AM ALIVE, 2007.


Dawn points, and another day prepares for heat and activity
In the city the wind moves timeless and undesiring
In the aspect of time, and caught in a form of limitation,
These words move in ongoing stillness.

As we move, the sound of our footsteps echo in here,
Towards doors, down passages, into silence, in time.
Time burdens and perishes in imaginary futures.
By its form and its pattern, we move like anything else...

Other echoes inhabit the city, round the corner, into our world,
Moving without pressure through the air. A bird called,
In the distance, a dog barked in response to the unheard music.

Wandering through life as a guest, accepted and accepting.
Like water running through a system of pipes in buildings.
The unseen moves quietly in hidden rivers.
The blood in my veins sings below the scars.

And so it moves freely in a formal pattern, leading to an alley or valley,
Looking down into a pool of water, where reflective thought rises,
Illuminations shimmer on the surface, like children, hidden excitedly, with laughter.
Or hidden quietly, like an open field under snow,
With sounds sleeping in an empty silence.

It seems to be sad, even when the earth starts to smell again,
To realize, the age when we are not used to it all,
When we are not yet damaged, stupefied, or tired out.
To be astonished or really terrified, looking at things with real wonder,
Without the promise of a future, without a past which sets up categories.

Now only sometimes does come to us a kind of feeling
An indefinable memory of a time, trying to remember,
A bench under the trees, a fragrance, a garden in the rain, the lake over the stones.
Clearly we are out of this world. Even for a moment hearing no sound,

The present is heard, in the stillness between two pulses of the beating.

With senses hardened and unlikely to change, a white light still and moving,
I levitate without motion, struck with amazement. I am alive
Without being rational, conscious without being pragmatic. Both a new world,
And the old made understood. With its partial euphoria, and its partial fear.

Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Distracted from distraction and under its tension,
I tend to fall victim to the look of things, empty of meaning.
Mistaken beliefs are whispered to me, false perfumes, childish music.

My angst renewed. The mind conscious, but conscious of nothing,
There I am, I don’t know where I am going, nor why I am going.
My cause looks like a crying shadow, in the fire, a chimera.
Either it has no purpose, or the purpose is beyond the end I figured.

There must be other places. I must wake my imagination and my memories,
Dreaming monstrous loves, fantastic universes, arguing with the world’s disguises.
Welcome then, all the influx of strength and real tenderness. And then,

When time has buried the day, armed with patience, I shall enter magnificent cities.