Death becomes me.    That’s what no woman sees.   Should I explain for a thousandth time?  For a thousandth time have understanding words returned to me to cloak me like a glazing shroud until the passing of that moment when the glaze dries to a brittle transparency?  Clairvoyant?  Psychic?  Who can see what I have seen?  This clarity of crystal vision burning within!  Yes, I burn—so do not touch!  Pour more understanding words, if you will, as a glaze to dull for a moment the luminosity, to cool the flame temporarily.  Yet Death waits, for it becomes me.  Soon.  Soon enough, don’t we all agree?

I am literally dying of lovelessness.  My body is shaking apart, my legs grow heavy, my arms fling helplessly, while  my heart feels like a neutron star determined to compact my entire existence into an imperceptible minutia.  But I’ll hold together surely—cohere as I must to finish what I’ve started.  And what is that?  What work might I have other than that which is economically transposed?  I can but answer with my favorite phrase: “We’ll see.”

The bear went over the mountain,
The bear went over the mountain,
The bear went over the mountain
To see what it could see.

And all that it could see,
And all that it could see,
Was a new paradigm of reality,
A new paradigm of reality,
A new paradigm of reality
Was all that it could see.

We’ll see.  Won’t we?  Soon?

…just talking to a satellite while  blogging from a distant cemetery…