The Door To The Infinity Room
Would you fear death less if it arrived by joy?
If in a moment your spirit vanished into the winter’s blue arc
saffroned an autumn valley or turquoised aimless waves?
What if you became the pull of a close summer moon?
Mercury heat mirage that drivers never reach
footstep of a romance in a coupon town
a magician’s trick no contemporary unwinds
boom of the last firework of the holiday
What if you were the newborn’s scent on every mother’s nape?
Thump of a good watermelon
the first gust of spinnaker wind
grainy image of the perfect ultrasound
the confirmation the performer will encore
What if your last next breath became those moments?
Would bright and brief console or only a more fantastic fate?
To be a blink on a blue-green planck
a desiccating sac of bone-caged blood
a gift of the sun unwrapped and celebrated
then released each moment with a gentle turn?
Is it not enough to be a cooling nothing-child
who reads novels on the floor of your infinity room
places yourself within stories
rereads to exult in what is rediscovered
then pulls a blanket to chin surrounding
all that was misremembered
and all that never tides back to ocean?