I am gone, further out now
than the infant day I forsook
the feather water of the womb,
my wet skull snailing through
the skin tube, its elastic tight
blinds every feature of my face.
I fall over a sudden edge
into the open vacant light;
I dangle for a while from
the skin line like a bait
until gravity swallows me,
seals me in my skin shape.
Since then something within me
strains through the closed pores
of words to get its echo out,
but becomes dumb again
when it hears their foreign voices
mangle outside what is tender within.
But now …
I open like a swift breeze
over a meadow of clover
seamless, light and free;
helplessly, everything in me
rushes together towards
the dark life of your eyes.