on dialysis

i remember a tall black tree
that stoode in the centre of a snow storm
and how it slowly became a beautiful face
behind a veil of whiteness, eyes closed,
and the the voice of someone i had loved
long ago, far far away

and i remember having been a wanderer
in a country i cannot name
and meeting people, living with them,
burying some in black earth, wishing
time woul unfold backwards and they arose again
from that hard, frosty oblivion.

a long time ago, in some beginning or other,
i knew the language of birds and walked
through the yellow woods being spoken to
by winged creatures flying overhead.
the seasons passed and came around again
and i did not miss my people nor my origins.

now i stand before a wide green river, dark
green as obsidian, and i have been here before, i know.
but perhaps this is not real. i might be dreaming.
i have shut my eyes against the world and my blood
is returning form a remote place where
it has gathered some nameless, terrifying beauty.

i just went over a thin thread and became part
of the world of broken things. you stood on the other side
looking at me as if you had never known me.
i shall forget you as i go sinking in the sickly afternoon
scented with languishing tulips, my blood reaching
out of myself, searching for health.