If I hold really still
and forget myself,
I feel the mist of my father's
seed
in my mother's pulse,
can sense myself passing bodiless
between them,
my face erupting out of
nothingness,
my tiny mouth hungry for a voice,
and I can see my first dream
shiver
through the veins
in my almost transparent eyelids.
The first dream -
that's what I want to know.
I want to remember the first dream
I ever had.
And then I'll use that
knowledge
to ransom my ghost
from the lightning.
BEGOTTEN VISION