I’m half dead half alive half dreaming
and enter the space of the living. He is
half dead half alive half dreaming. And we are
half a constellation apart (figuratively speaking,
said for your benefit). Each of us is star
material and we seem to move in the same circles but
I don’t know as I haven’t been here but maybe
ten years. Your time, anyway. It is not easy
to maneuver. No traction, no wings. I am half floating
half walking half a mile away. I gesture and
I make it through soft corners cloudy boundaries and
dark matter to try to slide into his awareness, but never
sure where I will end up. And not sure I should even
be trying. I know I should be thinking that
the mystery of this This is a must. But I am
half focused half unfocused half blind. I am not as
omniscient as I thought I’d be. Smarter than before
the transition as my walls made out of biases
and grief have mostly disappeared.
Do I impulsively approach
this ever-distracted sentient
commandeering atoms
in impatient desperation?
Or should I not try to touch his forehead the fourteenth time?
Keep the mystery?
What is it with him, half confused half asleep half awake?
I smell something. It is flesh, that other confinement.
He can’t see. I am half imagination half real
half unimaginable. And I don’t even know
where to touch him as he is half bone half blood
three-fourths nerves and sparks three-fourths
spirit and ninety-seven percent allegedly empty space.
The perspective changes as I am half expanding
quarter not half and half I don’t know what.
He senses me and turns away. When he looks back
his cerebral cortex erases me because he can’t make
sense of half lightning half thunder half inertia. I move
to a safe place in his bedroom closet (just kidding) and
will try again in ten minutes. My time.
