My emotional distances keep expanding. They measure every room I enter, every landscape that passes through my eyes. The center swims increasingly away from the edges of my being. The gap is great and undefined.
Shadowshapes of figures frame the shore. Hands cast their lines into my depths, searching for a reflection, fishing for a response to their repeated inquiries.
How long can I stay afloat? The gravity of this world exhausts me. Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, so incomplete. I have forgotten it–the one key to survival that is unnecessary but crucial.
I’m trying to recall the images that connect to my lingering feelings of kinship The light flickers, attempts to enter, but my eyes refuse it. They look sentient, but they are no longer open for business. Closed, the sign says. Can’t you read it?—“CLOSED”.
For the dVerse Prosery, Linda has selected a line from Mary Oliver: Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, from her poem “Spring Azures”.