Huginn and Muninn: a digital gothic (part 9- remembering)

Huginn and Muninn: a digital gothic (part 9- remembering)

Part 9: remembering.  [Playlist: Tool, Lateralus]

 

as in all transitions from light to dark
at first there seems nothing but dark
this is the moment when most turn back

and so the dark remains
a threshold
beyond which
every fear fattens on shadows
                                                                                                                                                           

                                                            mind your step

he says, opening a hatch in the deck
taking my hand as we descend
down and left
down and down again and always left
until I am dizzy with twist
and my head folds into a dive
toward my left shoulder

nothing in any direction
but heavy air and each
solid step rising to meet
the foot reaching

faster               his voice distant            dim
down and left                rough fingers
drag an arm that must be mine

though it seems distinctly

down and
left

                                                            of me
this floating head
or headless knowing

sense not pulled down to an object but
everywhere at once             trying to condense

amid a rising scent of sun heating
blacktop after  heavy rain

down and
left

of strings of days plucked
before              and too soon left yet                 never reaching

chords             when stings of yellow    pink and pinker
deeping down               grow long and lax

and redshift left
of light through eyelids to
a dive                           down and left toward

a blinding line of bright
the strip of light beneath a door

whoa. steady. 

he steps into a sideways room
pressing my head gently to his chest

the walls continue to distort and twist
though easing with each of his heart’s pulses
the cyclic heeling
wallows slowly back to true

though my body
seems not yet to have returned to feeling

and the sunlight makes no sense
we should be deep below decks

look there
he says

his finger points into                                                      
the gently swaying surface
of a mirror

where a plucked and battered raven gazes
from the folds of a coat             and his hand reaches down
and left to extract me

 

read part 10

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