Thursday, November 26, 2009

Her Body

(for Toni Kasim, 1966-2008)

Why did her body lie back into itself—to where
did she go? Why did the body crumble into itself?
Like a blackhole opened inside, and pulled the tissue
and the organs, pulled the heart and the spirit, back
to wherever it came from.
Why did her body fall apart? How could she change?
From a breath traced to its source to a snow flake
melting in reverse. She was only sleeping. There
was a dream of darkness, a deep dark lake.
The surface was like a mirror made of ebony.
She stood there staring at it for an eternity.
That oasis in her mind. Then she took her clothes
off and stepped inside. How could the soul drown
in its own firmament? Is there an explosion of
light? A flushing of blood? An arrow returning
to its bow the journey of its arc?
How can she go and leave no answers?
Memories only riddle and belittle the heart.
An emptied-out vessel. A house no longer there.
A temple abandoned. For what? For a journey to where?

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