Here the wind
the fog nestling in the hills at night
here away from the noise
of neurotic acceleration
here stars
here cool damp night
cold face
behind my eyelids
in the field of dreaming
deep stained flashes of color appear
richer deeper more intense
that the color of the outer world
and waking
somewhere in the night crickets and frogs harmonize their songs
meanwhile I have come back to the page
the fountain pen
blue ink scrawling in waves
across the page
the words bleed into the page
soothing my grieving heart
And the wind comes up
lifting the pages of my journal
a flapping song
that could be bird wings
lifting into the air
as the words come off the metal
a pointed wet geometry
full of conductive fluid water
not present in the electro magnetic frequencies
emerging from the hard black plastic of the keyboard...
My heart comes back
taking up space
releasing into the chest cavity of flesh and bone
the curtains undulate with the wind
that delights my skin shivering like a fowl
I arrive here on the page
after reading of ouranos
who stuffed his and Gaia's children
back into the depths of the earth
afraid of the power of their creation
to protect herself gaia engaged the aid of Saturn
cleaving sky from her breast
cleaving eternal from temporal
space from earth
meanwhile hearing the hum of my voice
I can breath again
as I do when I dance across the land
sure footed arms flying discovering the shape of the aire
around me the shape of the sky I travel through
finding the air in my lungs bouyied up by wing bones
and clavicles embracing the rhythm...
—Lorena
