Red to the Rind

Nearly DissolvingI was sitting on my porchIn yellow shortsWhen I felt the universeBrush up against me;The sun, the stars, the galaxies;The breeze on my ear, the insects;The whole of it; and it scared me;And I paused; making sure I didnt fall inAnd go crazy; feeling it, not becoming it;Until it passed; and I was MeAgain.BeholdPeople wake up in the middle of the night.No, not in the middle. Deep in their brains.They know the present, the little braveries.We lock our doors from the inside.We want to be delivered.We want the patience of mirrors.We want not to be torn in two by a brown river.We want the courage to diveOff the high board into human eyes.Behold the door.The lock’s alive.The StrangenessThe strangeness of others–Even your sisters and brothers–Is a responsibility toOvercome–or some night they will be lyingIn a bed dying–and how you loved them,Its quality–will be as unknownTo you as your own mother wasWhile a living stranger.