beyond
our recollection
We are unable
to translate boundaries –
the pale land of distant stars
we arrived from
Our bodies hold
the suitcase of one life
We return
to the wax recording
of the child
until Death leaves us
in its long silence
There is no disc which plays
the crown sutures
of our skulls
No diamond stylus to press
into the trembling grooves
of memory
After reading Rilke’s Essay on Primal Sound.