Wake up, Mark.
Forever is over.
I’ll draw the curtains on the window.
You are sleeping.
Your language is sleep.
Like a ball of dream assembling
its shadows.
Did you enjoy the swim
in your mother’s sea?
The silence that turned to sound.
The gifts added one by one
to your soul.
The shape of a body.
Gills turned to lungs.
Fins that became your feet.
The pearl of light
that becomes your thought.
The shore, longer than any other
that we share.
A long time ago I was there,
where you are now.
How could I know
that you would follow me to this place,
as I follow each and every other
who made me into life?
Mark, you are so beautiful,
as are all the others.
However we are made,
I don’t know,
except when you touch
and reach me by another way,
and everything is changed again,
grown bigger,
more full of light.
More windows to look out
to see where you are,
learning to walk,
speak,
play,
and touch me again
with a flower when I go.