Cocoa too hot to the touch
As shocking to the fingertips
as the cold tabletop is to naked wrists.
The tactile sensations of life,
intruding into my numbed psyche
reminding me that I’m still alive.
Stealing my thoughts back to
the rhythms of a material world of flesh and metal and breath,
causing alternating ripples of awe and heartbreak,
nausea and wonder.
When life shifts so quickly
as though your soul were suddenly thrust from it’s moorings
in time and space
and abruptly deposited in someone else’s existence
I look around at this new world,
at all the familiar things that suddenly seem distant
or somehow unrelated to me.
A laugh from the couple at the next table.
The shadow on the cafe wall that moves slightly with the night breeze.
And it’s so easy to see the cord that connects death to birth,
that palpable ebb and flow that creates the tides of life itself.
At the moment, I don’t feel a part of that rhythm,
I have become other, an observer, standing on the docks
But watching it all is a small gift,
to simply know that it’s still there,
that the dance continues.