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.