Wratherly

Unravelling the tattered edge of my faded green sweater sleeve for you, I slept under seventeen thousand layers of filament, grasses grew from underneath my brow, flowers bloomed, the earth shook into itself, trembling with trepidation. Inside a white pulse, ecstatic, I let all the world remember me, I threw up a bucket of squirming color, all over and across the sky, dreaming it wide. Trust and balance in a static sea, held back the instant, made a melted and diminished sequence become crystalline, magnetic, self replicating, and through all the courses, against every instinct, I found the shadows milk. Nothing remembers this, not even the dank wet unfamiliar creature kept in chambers within chambers of your body. I was lucky, as you may have assumed, to derive a mystic formula from underneath the warm enveloping ocean. I was lucky, but also arrogant, and lost pieces of myself in there. Now my child roars, calling me back and back against the wall behind the furniture. I tunnel in, looking for solvents, trying to equalize the pressure at such a depth as to entirely obliterate ideas. I dreamed myself towards you, through that underwater passage, getting caught on jagged edges, but relaxing throughout, and soon a wilderness emerged, quiet at first, and then uproarious, devastating, unrestrained, and cavalier. Riding her smooth back, lifting me from those tireless depths, I was carried towards the surface lovingly, deposited languidly upon her stable shores.