Ears decompressing
as if coming up from a
dive into Cathedral 2
where liquid dark blues
like Chartres reigns
underwater
a womb-like
cavern volcanic
off the coast of Lanai.
My breath
is catching up
to my body
I hold my nose
to I force the air
through my ears.
I can hear again
or rather
I can hear more of the
world than
the inside of my body.
I get it now
the frantic prayer
to possess
all conceivable
permutations
of the fingers
just as the
breath
catches up
to it
the tantric
exercise
to suspend
time
through
an overwhelming
physical
intensity.
Is there
anything more
heroic or
in vain
as expressing
oneself
against the
onslaught of
time
itself?
John Donne’s
bed
is a similar
fortress
against time and
the sun
his words are
shadow-less
and remain in
eternal equinox

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