The fog doesn’t clear. It condenses.
It forms into dew atop my skin, cascading back to the sea below.
I dance at the center of a bridge, the old land of my physical home is inaccessible, and the new continent emerges into view.
I’ve dreamed of this day for years, where I can formulate intangible thoughts, ideas, notions, and find them in physical form, still transient, but holding weight, and falling into the sea of life. My ideas have gathered in congregations and descend like a rain of daggers, a shower of spears, a blessing of wisdom, an array of fragments, a spritz of the soul, finally reaching the collective waters.
I always thought that I would have to leap off the ledge of my homeland.
I instead built this bridge.
I always believed that I would navigate into a sight unseen, a vision blurred.
I instead magnetized loose particles and became the Rain Man.
On this bridge, in the rain
I let it fall off, let it slide from my grip, emerging my crown through the clouds,
peaking into the floor of the heavens
like seed through soil
child through womb
zombies from tomb
I have come alive again
and step forward onto a new world
a new home
my temporal body
this new voyage to enjoy, step by step.
I became the rain man,
and cleared my own skies,
purging loose ends,
and shattering the firmament
raising my mind to the clarity of the Gods.