On the outer edge

 on the outer edge there is a beam of light shining in on the shoreline

of the mind

its corridors are lined with concrete

and obsidian veins

there is a walkway leading to surgical rooms

where they work on flowers and the lilies are singing

there is eternity in the backyard

and it is just the right time for a frost

milk honey and saliva oozes from the trees

I stand small next to them

I stand hunted in the forest

where the black doves carol

I am grateful for the summer

for the exploding sky

for the riddle of every moment

and the daylight escaping our grasp

the air more rich than caviar

the tungsten sparkle on your lips

our bodies covered in delicate moss

a mariner giving his famous speech about navigating time

the stars kissing

and the lacquered faces as if on old postcards

because history is impenetrable except for in dreams