Coma

 

Bodies of ice and dust move through space.

They sleep like seeds in the dark. They bloom
like matches at the edge of what you think

you know. You don’t always see it coming.

Beyond a point, a priori worlds
break down. One December night, perhaps

you’ll keep moving even after you
can no longer feel that you are moving.

Zuangzhi awakened but didn’t know

if he had only dreamt he was a butterfly
or was a butterfly that dreamt it was a man.

                                      *

After the lecture on Taoism, a motor-
cycle carried me towards home. I was

a tuning fork pitched to the combustion.
I was an iron finial ensconced in cloud.

In dreams I’ve braced for impact as
the pavement came like static at the end

of a film. I’ve purled like a goldfinch
and I’ve flown. I’ve been a child pearling in

the mollusk dark. I’ve been a stone.

 

                                             Originally published in Poetry Daily and Copper Nickel