It Dwells

Most of my life my left shoulder sheltered it while my right shoulder threw darts its way. Sometimes it shivered in the cold of my eyes. Often I would take it for night-walks just the body it dwelt in a restless mind still hollowing inside that death raised form. The moon back then was a white cow I would lead on a pulsing thread. It grazed on the electric chill of my skin. In the bare woods where starlight raises tree roots so that they may see and grasp themselves it came to me bringing the salt seeded bread of life still warm from my sleeping blood. In that gloaming it began to sing. From far away I could hear it, feel it move deeper into my distant chest. It has been diagnosed, found to be inoperable. Knives break their necks upon it. Thought is felled. In these latter times a great migration has occurred, has displaced all words that think or dance it has moved and removed my sense of being. For now I dwell in it and it is no longer in me, the way an ocean is in the fish and it never knowing until told, but no one speaks of this only those raised up to be mad, Yet now I speak of it, not in an esoteric or poetic way but as a deep sea creature would speak. For now it flows through me, and that which I once called: it, I have named I have labeled soul, not 'my soul' just Soul. No doubt in time that label will also change leap away into the forever nameless.