as twilight begins
and darkness descends
light pours into small spaces
and I am tossed out into the violet night
half remembering now the questions I asked:
what’s it like in that other realm?
will I be alone?
answers drift in from faraway places
and hang like forbidden fruit
words and images impossible to translate
relief comes as the first blush of morning arrives
wind strokes my hair
I turn back to what is familiar
and the simple language
for things: table, chair, cup, spoon, plate
now in the pulse of a quiet sleep
I dream that I have abandoned the questions
and am wrapped in the arms of the answer:
I am not alone.