Ever since the miracle happened I've hardly been able to talk to people.

I use to be charismatic.
I'm not sure what happened.
Silence is my new language
I used as a child.

My eyes stare out the windows at work, drifting far off, tugging on ideas for a sunken continent I'm trying to make rise.

All I see are pages blowing, belittled in a snowy meadow breeze, stripped out from a notebook-
angels write on in my dreams.

All day long
a key to a door
taken back by the unfair storm.

Ever since the miracle happened I have been mopping up spilt awe with words that don't sound right.

I can't get my pen around it.

This hidden continent is too gigantic.

It lies buried under gallons of black and cerulean sea.

Day or night.
It doesn't matter.

Something strange is happening to me.

I've never felt any metamorphosis like it.

Killer pitbulls don't bark at me even though they bark at everyone else.

All my old problems are evaporated
like nothing ever happened.

I met a man who told me
"You look so clear."

People don't know what to make of me, they just stare and smile through me like I have big white wings.

Ever since the miracle happened it feels like I've been walking around in a dream.

My dreams feel more real than the unreal of this place.

My friend told me
"There is nobody like you."
Maybe little Jazzy is right.
I don't know.

Her statement keeps pacing back and forth on my front porch like
I WISH YOU WERE HERE.

I don't feel lost anymore.

I need a master to help me with how to tame this ocean of light streaming incredibly through me from another place I can't see.

This miraculous initiation threw red carpet down for my feet to glide across.

This unnamed feeling sitting inside me like a hidden continent dreaming to break free.

Ever since the miracle happened
All I want to do is sing.