I can feel
my blood is tuned
to a secret future.
It floods through
my veins, piles up
at my heart, is littered
with doors and painted windows.
Where has this stuff
come from? Some life
destroyed still floats
as a home for ghosts?

I once was
taught how
to drop a key into hell.
How to then descend without
intention of salvation.
How to just go in
to retrieve a key.
Along the way, I
could bring everybody
back, out of the ash
and molten torture.

Now, it feels right to
turn away from looking
at the ocean,
from trying to imagine
what and who is
swimming where and why.
Just let the ocean calm.

I remember we
walked through
a Patan crossroads.
Five streets leading
to five choices. A woman
on another street stumbled
forward as a motorcyclist
passed. After,
I realized he had failed
to steal her bag.

One of my vows says
to be impeccable,
like strangers passing
on opposite sides of a building.
I know its hermetic truth,
freeing all hearts from obligation,
but I want the kind of quiet of
folding my body within your body.


by jerry gordon
5.29.2014