soul recognizes soul not through skin, nor breath, nor voice, but in the silent field where time dissolves and memory is older than creation. a single spark is enough the infinite folds into the finite, light bows to its reflection, and what was divided remembers its wholeness. even touch is unnecessary, for the touch has already happened, in the place before stars were lit, where flame knew flame, and silence knew its echo, reverberating, synching... essência... easier to be written than to be felt, to feel ignored than to be heard in the ache that drank depths above, criss-crossed at the crusted edge, vessels, essence in the seeping, a metaphysical seed bleeding embers into galaxies through skies over me. you are my hand that which lives in my head you are my head that which my mind cannot utter you are the heart that which my lips cannot dwell upon you are the wound dripping honey, you are the fire, the right shelter, the wave that drowns to forget, and in forgetting, remember in depths where breath cannot follow... exhalation, inhalation a single gasp resp(I)ration Planck’s hand on the pulse of silence, the frequency of remembrance, the weight of sorrow that must be overcome then the strike a single ray pierces the veil of flesh the barrier shatters electrons leap, syllables ignite residue becomes radiance, radiance becomes hymn.. the poet burns not consumed, but transfigured, body and cosmos indistinguishable and what escapes, we kneel before as phrases to be the written verses, no fixation nor cessation the last query is lūcem capiēsne?
