I remember calling effortlessly
upon
—the flow—
an immense unknown
I was not afraid
to invoke. I once
could open my mouth
and angels poured out.
My voice cracks when I try to sing now.
I have dreamed of sanctuary,
woken up and sought it out,
not finding, just deciding
to lie back down. In the dreams,
nameless beauty
would whisper and shout
suggestions of what to call it.
I would taste and spit them out,
release the songs of
angels from my mouth, not daring
write them down.
I knew well what I held
and it still left,
like falling out of love maybe or
losing track of gemstones
among truckloads. More matter
every year heaping.
I’m only limber dreaming;
hardly-bending knees
make for slow sifting.
I remember drifting
effortlessly within
the flow,
an immense unknown
I was not afraid
to invoke.