So we walk through grave sites and monuments
on a cold fall day
We don't talk, everything's consequence
tumbles in the fray
of leaves and desires. Our shoes and cold toes
remind me of films, I see explorers on ice flows.
And you wont hear what I say . .
Am I dark am I dreaming
Can I travel the arc
believing in breath and relativity?
I've never seen full portraits done
in color on the stone
and like beings, stone humans stand
blue black against the sun.
I don’t pray, I just dream of falling through the ground
I don’t pray, I just fall through the ground.
Am I dark, am I dreaming
Can I recognize the arc
Believing in breath and relativity?
Do some wait for Jesus Christ to rouse their white bones?
Or do some wait for…
Do some feel the loving footfalls of their remnants above the ground?
Do I dark, do I dreaming
Do I travel the arc
My body un-breathing, electricity . .