Before You Were Born
There must be
an entry point
somewhere in the fabric
of being, perhaps
an unhealed
wound in the bark
of an ancient tree
deep in a primordial
forest or gouged
in the cliff face
of a remote shoreline
where southern ocean
gales pound the continent,
or somewhere quiet,
unobtrusive, hidden
from view in a corner
of the self where it has
been all your life.
You feel its cool breath
blow across your face
much like when a slight
breeze comes out
of a cave when standing
near its mouth.
There are days now
when you are there
near its gape
when a weariness
takes hold and you peer
into a dark nothingness
at the very centre
of yourself, see it begin
to slowly dissolve
mind and form,
welcoming you back
to that place
where you were
before you were born.
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