I must go in; the fog is rising…
~Emily Dickinson, her last words
I have watched the dying
in their last hours:
often through the fog of waning breaths,
they see what I cannot,
they listen to what I do not hear,
stretching their arms overhead
as their fingers extend and grasp
to touch what is, as yet,
far beyond my reach.
I watch and wonder how it is
to reverse the journey that brought me here
from the fog of my amnion.
The mist of living lifts.
I will enter a place
unsurpassed in brilliance and clarity;
the mystery of what lies beyond solved
only by going in to it,
welcomed back to where I started.
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