IF THE NIGHT WERE TO REMEMBER ME
If the night were to remember me
among all these shadows of lucidity,
for the firefly I burned to become,
for the corpse of the candle I am,
By the scars on the window I swear
By these constellations on my arm
I’m still learning to wear
as if I deserved them,
I always kept faith with the wonder;
even if I took the river
and left the road I was on
to go the rest of the way alone
as if it were better off without me
and fire on the water in fall
enraptured by the mystery
I was nothing at all
but the shadows of objects in a mirror
that taught me how to disappear,
a phoenix among the waterbirds,
a breathless secret in a gust of words.
Even the diamonds grow old.
And the light that shines through them.
And the eye that stares and beholds
the message that answers the medium
like the future ghost of tomorrow
of why joy thrives on sorrow
and our deathmasks hide our happiness
where we’d never think to guess
here arrayed before us
this unseen paradise
everywhere just as it is
in all its wretched blessedness.
I’ve looked for grace in the curse.
I’ve eaten the afterbirth of the worst
Taken sanctuary in the shadows
of abandoned embassy windows
keeping an eye on me in the dark.
Smothered in the ghost dust of stars
trying to make a fresh start
I’ve exchanged old wounds for new scars
just to blow on the fire a bit
to gratify the heretic
his penchant for martyrdom
and mine for creative delirium.
Ask me why and I’d say
that was my nature back then.
I didn’t know any other way
to avoid being Zen about Zen.
Now I don’t give a damn.
A true human is not human.
Better to avoid both
as pirated copies of the same truth.
Let go, give up, bye bye,
or cling to the dream in the doorway,
and nothing is purged or clarified.
Words are born with nothing to say.
Insight doesn’t condition chaos.
Seeking a way out of the cosmos
is just another way of finding
a new way to stay that’s binding.