Risen

The current is as calm-green as ever, souls easing along.
The now-here is storm-blue, curly with waves, wind biting
as you jostle for balance on a twisting beam of moonshine.
The spirit rears and springs and churns, no time to twist
and check you are clinging on – after all, he didn't invite you,
you just felt solid, silver not-there-ness rise beneath you,
then found yourself above the surface, numb, draped in pink.

Still, the jade passage calls, a world that is always moving,
with no room for breath or fear or decision, only resting,
letting yourself be carried, on and on and on, to an infinity
you cannot understand – surely we all must end and begin.
Perhaps, that is why he pulled you out, or why you climbed,
up onto his back, into the sharp, gritty air, to keep growing
and counting, untangling it all, when it seems impossible.