To Chant As I Go

You are not lost,

Though your flesh is buried deep

In coffins sunk in unmarked graves

Beneath the dawn’s dew-dampened earth,

Tucked far within a cool and misty

Wood. So far away that no soul standing

Above the soil, or yours asleep below,

Can hear the toll of church bells ringing,

Singing their welcome of the morn’.

No, you are not lost.

When I study the lines ,

Those kudzu vines creeping

Up the lattice of skin that

Lines the wall of my palm,

You cling to me. In my dreams,

My incorporeal being walks

Along paths carved so clearly through

The wilds of my mind;

The stones laid are my memories

Of you. Your stories burn, my guideposts

Shining brighter than the morning star.

You are not lost; I am

Sometimes. I often feel I have been

Set adrift in a sea of voices

Unfamiliar, voices that are not

My own, and can barely keep my

Head above the surface.

When I start to drown I try to sound

Your form into the physical,

Pulling you inward from the abyss,

A buoy to hold close, clutching you

To my chest. I often hum the melody

You taught me in my dreams

Rocking myself to sleep,

A baby embraced by the music

Of your arms.

There I am soothed, and find

Myself at peace, because

You are not lost.