Among the Unfamiliar

A great and wild emptiness fills you like a wind. It roars forth when you open your mouth and swallows the sun, the moon, the stars, the sky. It crackles from your fingers and devours the land, the trees, the beasts of the field. It bellows in your ears, plucks at your eyes, drags at the hem of your more than majestic coat. It knows your secrets, which are three, and mighty.

You are the smell of the ocean, the humus, the quiet darkness at the back of the cave. You are inward. You are the mystery of numbers, the shape of the future. You are the racing heart of time.

You awake to find yourself balanced on the edge of a cliff.

Clouds veil the ground, but far away you can hear the slush of the sea. You are in a garden on a cliff’s edge. There is a lion.

You are flying through the air, borne on the lion’s breath, flying without wings. You have made promises: of discovery, of protection, of revenge. You are clever, you are canny. You are at home in the dark. You keep a gun close and a bottle closer. You are never deceived. You are always in balance. You sleep with everyone you want.

You touch down on a plain without landmarks. Sparrows cover the sky in great numbers. Their bodies for an instant come together in towering letters: