I climb aboard the
steel and wooden crate
and rock my way into Shiva’s slow serenity,
into the easy sway of warp and woof, of yin and yang,
of the particle-wave ticket to ride.
Mansions and three-hundred-year-old oaks drift by,
streaks of color in the increasing time dilation
compressing my life into the present
of mindful meditation. I have been here before,
riding silver tracks in a tesseract of then and now,
tracing the crescent moon that is New
Every swing and spiral shake is another mantra,
another turn of the prayer wheel, another rosary bead.
I am a schoolboy hobo riding the rails—
I am an old man with a wooden cross and iron nails.
It doesn’t really matter. It’s all good.
I left crucifixion and the empty tomb so many
trading pain for a gin fizz, slow.
I arrive at my stop and disembark,
stepping into Andromeda, for I have
traveled light years.
I do not live in time and space, but they in me.
Let the Red Sea part, for I am walking across the universe.