I’m progressing
We’re regressing
Feeling the weight on our hands
And our heads
Curling up to sleep
And pointing to destinations
Feeling the navel heat
In our outward umbilical cords
Taught with memories
Taut with expectations
Hibernating away
From the awake damsel
Bright eyes
And hands of wit
I fumble
Into your covered eyes
Bright with the jade of gypsies
Doors of cathedrals
Taped shut with the sign of wetness
You know the cold
It makes people fall into themselves
Or fall into the eyes
Of those tied with masking tape
Or shackled with cardboard
You know we really are free
I know we are still tied
Chained to the pull of life
Spiral out
Onto the floor
Come down a bit for me
Get up for me
Wake up from your slumber
Choose motion
Choose transparency
Choose Connection
Unfurl these blankets
Let’s step down the hall
Into the psalm that is searching
For this very progression
Backwards forwards and whole
By Gillian Wenzel