Sorry

        

Feel sorry for anyone who says,
“I am not this body.”
The two-syllable name of the Friend
is my heartbeat.
The Goddess is my breath.
In this bone cathedral 
under a gristly dome,
every initiation, every mystery 
has already happened.
The human form is pierced
with doorways, wounded with portals
to all possible worlds.
A Bride and Groom ascend
the aisle of my spine.
They kiss in the sanctuary.
My father and mother?
My first ancestors?
Perhaps those mournful exiles 
returning to the garden of my flesh
to walk with me in the cool
of the evening
while trillions of tiny oceans
sing the sun to rest 
in a dark valley
just below my sternum.
Don’t go anywhere.
Stay here, pilgrim, dissolve
in your ministry of wonder.
And please, feel some compassion
for anyone who says,
“I am not this body."

Painting: Lavar Munroe