One falls alone to the abyss of self,
to the faculties cast in this skin wrap.
Study of snail fingers
groping in the dark,
Already internal at the bottom of the night,
everything speaks, everything is sound.
To see, a major faculty is relieved;
Contemplation of the chiasma,
inaudible static of the heart's own crackling.
Compressed in this tiny chamber,
the incoercible sea,
the mystical ear of the sublime self,
the sea, the impregnable sea.
Copyright © Roxane Aristy | Year Posted 2020