Breathe on this sleeping fire

When you walk out the door, 

all the spirits of the invisible world 

gather around you like a great cloak 

that flows back to your beginning.

You walk away 

but they do not. 

They love you because 

you were a knit-together marvel from the first; 

they heard of your miraculous frame

growing around you in your mother 

and sent gifts to feed you 

as you became yourself.

You leave the book of your days behind 

yet its words rise up in your absence 

and tell the story you can't see anymore. 

They call forth phantom thoughts 

to lay themselves down on the page 

and wait for you to want them again.

You abandon desire 

yet desire lives 

in this host that surrounds you 

and fights for you 

even as you slumber in your tent. 

You thought you let it go at the edge of that cliff, 

yet it swam the river below 

and tracked you day and night 

and even now, 

lays merciful traps in your path. 

It shadows your escape boat across the sea, 

lulling storms to sleep and singing them awake 

so you might see the wind and the waves 

and know how alive you are 

and how always close to death.

You abandon the reflection of 

your own reflection, yet 

still you are seen.

Still you are known 

by every last creature who's crossed your path, 

every invisible path of lightwaves

that have touched your shifting face 

day after mist-burned day;

by every symbol or portent 

you forgot upon waking. 

Creation speaks for you 

even when you think you 

have nothing to say. 

And all heaven plunges its oars 

into the water 

that carries you home, 

to the place from which you exiled yourself 

but that never gave up 

waiting for your return.

So when you finally hit the wall 

you can't walk through, 

go back to the tracks left behind you. 

Let the wet soil embrace 

your backwards steps, 

let your body be drawn. 

Go back to your 

hidden country. 

If you face south, 

head north. 

If you ran east, 

let the west wind pull you back 

with cords of lovingkindness. 

Go back to the dark 

heart of this mountain, 

where you once searched 

for gold and riddles and hidden springs.

Go back to the cave 

where your heart still lives 

and take it back. 

Stand back and see 

this cave as it is, 

this vast cave in the heart of God. 

Say the true names of things again, 

knowing what is—

not idea or form or creed or mantra—

just the name that is—

and breathe again.

You named these things;

these things named you.

You have always been seen. 

You have always been known.

Erin Gieschen

Erin Gieschen writes and makes art. Selected poems can be found at Rabbit’s Gone Missing: https://rabbitsgonemissing.blogspot.com