Flux and Flume

From words we come
and to words we return. 
After our bodies expire
and we are born again 
on the lips of 
storytellers and near-historians 
who usher our lives 
from bodies of skin 
into bodies of breath. 

We move from mountains to be climbed 
unto mountains we throw, unshackled, into the sea. 
On the borders of life coming and of life passing, 
our days, our memories are historicized into a liminal space 
between image and occurrence, 
between fiction and the realities our non-corporeal lives profess. 

And we again will see without the limitations of time 
or the nagging shackles of age and of circumstance. 
We will again,  in a word, be free. 
And from our freedom, 
which holds no need to act on our own behalf, 
we will finally see the reality of what it means to love one another 
without blade or vice.

We will see what it means to behold the world from heaven’s gaze 
and as we flux and flume throughout the world of sight and sound, 
of air and of ground, 
our braided lives will twist like golden vines 
across our spiraled galaxy. 

We will envision eternity and all that is blessed. 
Our lesser desires, those flesh-burned cravings 
will have ashed from our grasp and in blessed release, 
we will remember the truth of who we are, 
from where we have come 
and to where we have returned. 

And the policies of our present moment will no longer hold court. 
What feels so pressing, so dire, so urgent and in need 
will trickle like stardust in downward pirouette. 
Our beautiful abyss in upward forever,
alight in glory.