a word on leaving

whoa.

leaving is in a strange way like exploding. one instant you are here. in the next you are moving away - speeding away and apart and coming together in slow motion. you are no longer here. you are... t r a v e l i n g . you are, you feel, different. you = transition. you feel sortof...see-through. skin, face, arms, your eyes even, nearly there, nearly not there. your hands. the fingers clasp, unfold, clasp, unfold. they feel each other and yet...your brain is moving away from center. outside of comfort. taking your heart, lungs, memory, you, away away. and so your skin and fingers move too. move differently. yours, not yours, not really. semi-present. semi-understandable.

so you hold them there. and you look at them. through your fingers you see your pants. hold them up: through your fingers you see tree leaves flickering in the sun and wind. turn them over. hands you've seen what? a hundred million times? which line is your lifeline? you look in the dictionary. lifeline. there is a picture. still you don't understand lifeline. lifeline. it's moving away from comfort. moving becomes important in this way. it becomes life. it becomes. and comes. and ... comes...