undoing of all the done

My breath boughs the branches of body as I sit in silence. A surge spilling down the carved contours and locking light in the hollows of elbow and shoulder blade. I am pulling in and constant calling the swirling mind that struggles to jump forward, latching to the color patching through morning curtains. Flesh in soft movement tugs at the limits, clay moulds of my age and every day I replace and renew the worn out and through. These are my moments, swept past and falling through slender fingers and connecting soul fragments with other soul fragments. Finally, I am remembering the eyes that capture in reflections, that sorrow rings my lips and tips my tongue with flavor. When the stirring stops and the tangled becomes sinewed, I glide with my body and mind intertwined. Sinking down to the sea bottom bed of conscious swaying with a current of raw energy, the melting of bone into a sequined bead of sparkling drop. I forget the tired tick of beating heart and pulse with dissolution, the undoing of all the done. Letting go of the carried, the burned out and buried. There is only these speckled spots floating on the rooms of my eyelids and the moving back, behind the language into the soft and broken.