I turn my head, and the world tilts,



Everything is not as it seems,



True reality appears to be missing,



Like illusions, inside a dream.



I meander in darkness through water,



Called upon by a passing bird,



Blood fizzing, inside gnarled veins,



I am waiting upon the word.



I try to recall a time of innocence,



Guiding myself by the moons on water,



Letting go of all temporal lines,



Remembering once I was the daughter.



I dive into a net full of fishes,



Caught suspended in the reeds,



And inside the sleeping silence,



An ancient language plants its seeds.



It flows like an aria inside me,



Imploring  for the unreal to be heard,



Make us of the flesh they cry



And I commence to write the word.