MEMORIES OF A BLIND UNIVERSE

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The dream begins and ends among the stars, ageless lemurial nocturne, deepest, deadest.

 

All in a moment, the dream faded into the dawn, the night’s enveloping, leftover mist slowly lifted, the new light draining in, pale to peach, peach to pale, against the clouds. As always, the dream lingered, its motif of beginnings mirroring the dawn as it merged with it, its pallor of all endings subsuming and making nonsense of time. Just as the dawn resembles dusk, that dream and the dreaming, dormant, inalienable, in the pit of the eye enmeshed, both optic and panoptic, in body knowledge, that polytemporal vision inborn, encapsulates histories. There stood, with its dreams and blooded memories, the last of the ancient, wild wolf of the steppe, totemic, home, not distant from the spanned, unteethed river mouth. The wolf had always been a dreamer, always sensed preternaturally things it could not have come to know in the course of its life. It had become all life at once, in this time of its eve. The fear was gone now. All that remained was devotional love, in honor of the long-lost, omnipresent owl, who it may have known or not in lives past and further.

 

If it once, if it ever, it nothing was, and wanted to say "if farthest starry space, nightblackmothermatter of not, should swallow us whole from above, all utterance is wind past, all deed but energies spent, lost in soulless time, glistening viridescent pond of beyond, trees from years of tears, carved in old white ether, distant mountain that you were, silly ornithic martyr, time for cradle, and petals of sky, ever-invisible sylvan dragon lightning, gone, into night, into death, into love, beautiful brave being against the wind, breaking rage with rage into funny little fragments of life that vanish into past then last forever as heartmade sunlight in time's black swamp, that yield the implicit promise of many, many more, pain-piercing power and privilege, floating, burning ash above the falls, blood flows into space to crystallize as stars for our universe to fall in love beneath, blind astral zoo of man and beasts and things, burrowing once again into the ground like flies, like endings, like prayer."

 

Stood almost, wolf and owl in silent syzygy, sidereal, it never could be spoke, it was never thought.

 

Crept the night, and rained.