Chapter Text
POEM 53
Picture this: your body. And now: inhabit this: your body: a vehicle for: the long trek westward. And now: remember this: you are the vehicle. And remember this: you must carry your self to: the threshold. And remember: the relay: which has carried you this far. The self: passed from one hand to: another: the same hand, now: changed.
Bring your self along as you journey to the Western Plain, not as baggage, but as an offer. Leave your self on the threshold as the wind calls you forward. It is not for you. It never was. The next traveler will know what to make of this weary load, as you will find his down the path. Take it up. That is for you. It will be yours again. Feel its weight pressing into you like a warm body. Remember this: your body is warm. It carries you still.
It will carry you right to the edge of the Plain, and you will sit on the porch, and it will be quiet. Then you must talk to your self. Bring it to your ear like a shell, mourn the small creature that was lost to the sea. Lay your selves out before you: a collection gathered: lovingly as you walked along: the edge. The relay ends here. You will unravel and be unborn.
Remember this: you have loved them all.
Remember this: even when the porch collapses: you are: the relay out of: death.
You are: every day: reborn.