A part of me which was ether
Escaped into space to look down upon myself...
Draped in shawl and sweaters, it saw me bleeding on crumpled sheets of paper,
Staring vacantly to an invisible horizon, where words became waves and emotions -a deep swirling ocean
It saw me smile... It saw me cry...It saw me being another... It saw me being me...
As I carved letters with ink in the hope of calming a storm inside me that seemed otherworldly...
My ethereal self understood tis the time, the aesthetic moment that appears in the life of every poet,
That harbours the essence of their lives
A moment so fleeting to be captured on camera... A moment so tenderly fragile...
So my vapoury self remembered unto it's memory it's own writing self...
And slowly returned back to me
So, this is how I remember my state... This is what I finally wrote unto paper...
The description of my candid moment!

Each morning
He gathers
Those essential items
Left on the nightstand
Car keys, pill box,
jack-knife, and ball point pen

Pockets filled
With the necessities
For the day
He made a mental note
Find moments of stillness

Discover moments or places
To create a pause
Without sound
Or movement
Some short time
When he will inspect his
Surroundings
With noncritical awareness
Engage with the world
Like a wistful child
Who picks up a pebble
Rolls it over and over
Between his fingers
Studies it carefully
Before secreting it
In his pants pocket

During that moment of stillness
Perhaps he felt
Comfort oozing from
The stone or
Noticed the beauty
Gleaming at him
Reflecting the sunlight
Washing him with renewal

What am I thinking ,

I'm thinking of days gone by,
Warm light
Dark shadows
Corners of my mind
I thought lost forever

I'm thinking of solitude
Gentle rivers flowing
Mighty seas crashing
Skies that cry

I'm thinking about life itself
The  beginning
The end

From Spirit's plane to ER, I
Waited 4 hours post triage.
Watched a middle aged white lady wail herself to the front of the line for her pain was the only thing that mattered in a room of other equally ill patients.

My body shocked and perhaps still in the sky.
It was this moment that solidified that I had matured: grown to know long suffering love more that the other traits. Patience was as rooted as my African ancestry, my black race.