A KNOWLEDGE OF BEING

The last months
have felt like an acnestis upon my soul;
that little patch of skin on the back
that can't be reached to soothe.
Cannot be touched
to scratch.

It had me reaching,
spinning around in circles,
dog chasing tail...
mind railing against
the knowledge of this,
an Archaic Pain.

I was a mendicant
at your door.
You gave only confusion
For which there was No salve. No plaster.
only degrees of more.

But now I know - These memories of you
were an inactment of experiences
of child with mother
They were raw and elicited
a knowing of being
whole and apart,
full and empty, present and absent, near and distant.
The approaching and retreating, giving and taking, intrusion and expulsion, protection and threat, sameness and otherness of you...

I think I shall contract back into
My heart – back to where it began
Right at the start…