No longer floating light,
Am I carrying someone else?
Am I now another’s boat to the next life?
Out they come, the little doubts lining
Up on the shore, like troops.
Will they let us pass?
I am here, on the shore
The eleventh floor of the
How light and shiny the
The notice board.
The place where babies
Create multiple lines. Blood lines, tear lines, love lines. Multiple directions that multiply upon the world more blood, tears and love.
As a child grows, lines unfurl in borrowed darkness until they reach their own light which grows and grows until the time of their own
darkness, when new lines multiply over theirs and then grow away, as they did, towards light, towards darkness.