First Things

Spread your arms wide.
Take it in, all of it. Open yourself
up to closing suddenly, even unexpectedly.

Then remove the doubt
you came with — yes,
even that doubt which kept you
closed to possibility. You lived
without it, after all; you gave up
hope, wonder both dark and wild-lit,
even fear — even fear,
that precursor to all else;
fear, the wide-eyed amazement.
You let it go.

You gave up so much
that you are afraid
of what will replace it.

You find yourself
having forgotten your name,
immersed deep in the indigo ocean
off a coast you don’t recognize;
it’s a night built upon stars.
Your boat’s getting away from you
and you are miles above the bottom.
You wouldn’t know the bottom if it rose
to greet you, and yet
there must be something down there
to shape this, to hold this.

You have forgotten your name…what a relief!
What ferocious joy is this now?
Who do you dare to become?

This isn’t the end. Only
a new origin, an ecstasy
foaming, fresh in the vast sea;
you are open to it
reforming and refashioning
above inky darkness.

You were born to this.