The figure was sitting,
With silken appendages spinning,
A pealing, a wheeling
Issued forth,
And bade me believe:

“This is my healing.”

This is my healing?
This is my healing!
Lost upon me once, twice,
Thrice-
A stranglehold on feeling!
I see only black, only white.
Friend, here are some fragments of delirious touch,
All content with drowning,

Mid-flight.

I saw then my function
And that I was the orchestra:
Gazing with blind vision
At a horrendous occasion.
“Come hither,” they said.
“To the up and to the down!”
I balked at this appeal of epic proportions,
And cowered from motions fantastical.
I trembled at the voice that was hollow-
Driveling forth,“One million directions at once!”

But I followed.

I grew weary,
I grew tired.
I heard not what else they were saying.
I closed my eyes, to the beloved void-
Became aware,

That music was playing.