At the height of our misfortune,
we are scarcely afraid, it’s as though
on the basis of nothing, anything
is conceivable, and everything becomes
feasible, because we have known
and understood our human limitations,
then it is as if the arms become wings,
and the feet are now unnecessary.
We unravel from the earth womb,
never knowing we were conceived
in the darkness of our own crystal hearts,
that our fate was a poem on the tip of
the tongue, waiting to take flight.
It is then that we are born, on a black night,
when no stars are yet visible on the horizon,
yet in the cave of our conscious knowing,
the answer was in us, growing and growing,
so clear that the world could see it glowing
deep within, where we waited for it to awaken
from the opaque dream of blind imagination.