the advent

we had the answer long ago,
when the bed arrived.
harnessed between posts, the heavy sack of feather
made me dizzy that first night up off the ground
and i awakened often.

the ceiling called my attention now, and so close it appeared,
i thought more about my head, and where it went in darkness.

you slept further away,
curiously, willing to crawl farther,
in the morning to touch me.
with all that room, we realized what had always been there,
just waiting, empty,
and our dreams were not what they had been.

can i answer you?
the history of time is the dream.

the other side is full of breath,
this…pulse-music organizes into being,
and so coming out your mother
is emerging packless
to a valley without echo.


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