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AMISH TRIVEDI VI Perhaps these are the shores we wash up against, our
ankles deep in flood. We laugh to forget for a moment,
the breath in our lungs sucked out and returned to the
waters we are surrounded by. Maybe what's joyful in
light is mere chemical: in a darkroom, the mind is left
to wander a little too much and we never recover the
self. Shame fades and we see that maybe what remains
of us is our terrors. But this is not merely reaction: we
measure the distance between ourselves by
understanding light's response to gravity's pull upon
it. What we see in the distance is obscured, pulled out
of line by a chain we cannot rend our way through.
Maybe there is a formula written into our skin to
measure traumas we have been holding onto. On a
walk one day, or in our sleep, we become witnesses to
a star's dying moment.
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