The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Monday, 2 July 2012
a palmful of rain
I tilt my face to the rain, hold up my palms, think about absence, about washing-away. And then the dance. T makes the shapes of tai chi. J smiles serenely. A is a mad monk then a Sufi dervish. I forget death, absence, illness, stress – I forget who I am in the dance. There is a moment when the music and my body slip me, whoever 'me' is, through a narrow keyhole into ecstasy. Time starts to slide and I'm back on the blue heights of Treshnish, above the white crescent of Traigh Calgaraidh, wind roaring at my ears until all thought is washed out and the wind is me and I am the wind
and again there is only the dance
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