FRAGMENT: A VERB AS POETICS

Clearing out some old files, this (diary?) fragment revealed itself:

You open up to where Poetry seeks to take you...

And I just sit here on a mountain spinning air...

And the spun air begins building a bridge of blue silk...

And the bridge shoots out towards the inflamed horizon...

And the Poetry leads me to walk towards radiation...

And I pass through the fire to see my skin become gold...

And I keep walking to see my golden skin become a dove (make that Eagle)...

And I feel the wind caress as I soar towards more blue...

And I pierce a color called "sky" to find myself floating...

And I am floating in the ocean that ends in black sand...

And I am woman again walking away from sapphire sea froth...

And I am walking towards a beach house full of spherical music...

And my feet are pounding with the ancient gong music of the kulintang...

And my torso is whipping back and forth with the Black Swan Oracle...

And my lips are kissing "A Diamond Hidden in the Mouth of a Corpse"...

And, yes, more than 7,000 islands send breezes through my uncut hair...

What I recall now, looking at this fragment, is that I was struggling to articulate something...and failed. So why this post -- this nostalgia for Loss?

When, after all, I am so happy today and nowadays...