Seizure
Arin Mara
Dame de la Lune | Hunter Lapp | Drawing
I’m glad to think he did not think
and had no time to fear.
His body didn’t—and didn’t—betray.
He was then was not here.
I was then was not here one day,
no epitaph or tears.
I thrashed in light, embraced the dark,
as moments passed—not years.
On asphalt through my bleeding mouth,
I said, “don’t let me die.”
They tended to what should have ached
as the void met my eye.
The Buddha’s end; The Christ’s return
The Dark dissolves the dream!
But holy men find common ground:
row gently down the stream.
Should he wake feeling out of place,
and should a light begin,
I hope to God the dark was warm
and nothing aches again.