The Brick

I do not hear the words, far too busy in my ears laying golden tracks of forceful movement They carry me away, away. always to away. Stretch horizon, many ones and zeros, far away. Starlit destination on that noblest of hill. Girls and ladies youthful arms, all reaching for our home. My eyes look at me. They are not my own. From plastered plains; ears that hear the plastered pain of linings. I am this microscope of telescoping ears still bathed in voices from a light of shinings. Voices of the nighttimes endless day. Voices from the ears and eyes sound and sight of every see and say. Things they bring to me, in whispers and in glances; puppies, kittens, mystic kisses, wishers of babies and second chances Chicken scratch, chlorine sheets blowing in winter storms. We all die frozen on the tundra, no final whispered sound. Our people’s lended home a final form arrested, final mound. Explorers all, we do not know our stumbled gait. We watch and wait and then we take the bait. Mindless fish with crooked intuition; missing in between the lives we touch, mirrors brushed and polished, ears tickled in visions, things we think we know; and such and such. Eyes alone and closed, the time we’re here; opened only when we disappear. Oh, Oh, silence, I am here. I am here. I will always be, Leaving. Those of us who love this much, grieve for beauty, holy, touch and all lost love from hearts that cannot feel. Voices who would love too much. I am the branch I use to poke this earth. Stirring her aspect, crying, gifted, cursed. Awhaile, this ghosted touch. Released to please, a stone to throw. A brick you could not know.