7410. SEAMLESS

SEAMLESS

The density is astounding. I am smelling my hands

as I cup my fists in front of my nose. Almost as if at 

the refinery itself, the wonderful odors of life emanate.

There is a sequence to everything. The gift is in the

knowing of what it is. We breathe in,  and we exhale.

The air around us stays put. We travel, and there is

always air. It moves, and we are always there. The

jovial weatherman, although smiling and never

quarrelsome, seems nonetheless intent on telling

us something between the lines  -  something his 

contract forbids him to say. How the birds 

wind their way through the air.

-

How the geese ride the midnight currents in black and

dark to remove to other places. How the shifting river

of atmosphere about us carries everything along  -  our

doubts and our odors, our loves and our hates, our deceits

and our crimes. The great cross-current of conversation 

and breath, as it rises, mingles its heat and its stories

with all of the cosmos we live amongst. Within us 

and without us, it goes.

-

The smiling one, with the wand and the map, is talking

too sweetly of seasonal change. His doubts must explode 

within him, and us, someday. His arrival at his end will

be like ours  -  perhaps on a clear and balmy day, with

fresh breezes to air out the blood. Perhaps in the wind and

the hail, smothered under a mantle of clothing and coat. 

Whatever it is, the transferance will be seamless and swift.

But for a moment, we will be there, and then gone, and

others will cease to know us.

-

It is like that; here, everywhere.

The density is astounding.