it is a collection of feeling

watching in the hour of the sun's rest,

my mother, she turning toward me, and while sitting beside, looking out to, as we both in taste of salt upon, it is streaming, extending her hand and finding my leg, we again to turn forward, in the moment of that is losing and sharing there that not without only words, in bridging translation of Mother and Child we have Hearts of that long for and hold, we know the feeling of loss upon lips in not a moment of looking into eyes but out of them

i was at once there, crossing into while she beheld me, perhaps calling that name that I did not know, hearing hallways of space that grew louder over her voice, over that name, over and away from her touch on my face that called that name back, while the spirits inside whispered me of the warnings from the night before

it did not yet occur to me that death happened quickly, and not only in body and to out of body, but in bodied the change, it was only a time of deciding that took not with haste but a considered thought that danced around and over on the table without touching it, when we touch it is happening, the moment of before meeting that the lingering space will magnetize

i was not good with my words of Mind, i did speak and out of turn, turning inside submerged the deepening of begotten that was becoming of you, where we held in suspension the questions of answers that could not be weighted in our scales of measurements according to kilograms, it was only a thing of mystery, uncovered and buried resurfaced in dreams for years and days in the nights that came, reminding me of the presentation of that night, when different characters perform it is only you that awakes me into gasping

it is the part that can wait, and it is the part that did not wait in the moment of collapse that also while saying halt says with haste now make more speed ahead, she will turn to you and speak over and over again of your worth, that the plants will sing to you in the night of lullabies, an offering and a lighted candle now glowing softer and until it will extinguish, i am looking now, in moments of mirrors that rest in my hands writing of songs upon the sound, i wonder what did you see, know that in the moment of crying, she held you, understood and it was not a thing to be spoken, like in dying, we do not speak of what it feels like

it is a collection of feeling, that we all want to love and to be seen in deeply doing so, another

copyright 2018 ⓒ / forrest gallagher