Friday, April 16, 2010



With enough concentration,
the seer goes ghostly.

As you stare,
feel yourself turn transparent.
Your face is first to disintegrate.
The vanishing spreads down your shoulders,
your chest and arms dissolving
as a bubble’s glassy gleam thins and releases itself
back into air.

By now you are only legs,
but soon even these will slip away.
No shoes, no shadow,
no patch of land you are confined to.

You are the windowpane.
You are the wind inhabiting the fabric of the curtains.

Let yourself be opened.


  1. ooh, mirror gazing...when you disappear is when the fun begins!

  2. Just reading this poem calmed me down in such a good way. "You are the wind inhabiting the fabric of the curtains." Fantastic.


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