Dear Jack

A poem in response

Photo by Raghav Srikanth on Unsplash

Stepping into the dream:

As I’m reading this, a crow flies across my vision. I couldn’t have intended a better psychopomp.

In a place, in a landscape
where we can be silently, violently
broken down into so many pieces
where you cannot look away from the aftermath
but are put back together
as a rendition of unity as life has
always have been
— there’s no blood to contend with
or there is
but that’s just part of the sacrifice
and not meant for cleaning up —
the air becomes us
as we go into fire
and come out water
and split again
and again
until there are more parts
than we ever knew
we had before.

I did dream last night
and I sat for an eternity staring
over the sea
turquoise and violet —
across from me there was
seven arches, various widths
and heights.