THE METAMORPHOSES OF CHANCE

I hear the light footsteps

She thinks I am within the folds of sleep

I am in what Mohammed Ali refers to as…

“The Room of Half Dream”

What I refer to as…

“The Gateway”

To untold worlds

This slim doorway

A pathway

To knowledge

I feel the light touch

And am sent reeling

The lightest touch

Always carries the greatest weight

We are not here

We are not there

We are not anywhere

“If a tree falls in the forest

And nobody hears or sees it

Did anything happen?’

Of course not

Existentialist beings

Are ghosts

Here today

Gone tomorrow

With no trace left behind

Her breath is on my face

Points

Pushing me past my limits

My thoughts drift back hundreds of years

Another person

Another time

No less real

An affinity

For cold folded steel

She is slowly bringing me back

I come

I go

Quite peacefully

Quite suddenly

I am here.