Full Moon in Virgo

I left for the ocean as the sun stretched its rays

blooming past webs of cloud. Me, levitating, anchored 

over beach washed sand, watching runners

graze along the face. We live on the surface, I whisper

to the wind. And where shall that be carried? Where 

shall I end up? No, I have no time for endings. They never 

end. I went to the ocean. Imagine the 5 AM people,

most of them asleep as I was, floating on the rings of 

Saturn. Sometimes when it rains the mail arrives soggy. 

I don’t dry the mail I allow it to dry itself. Self-reliance

Is the good kind of hurt. As my finger heals from the shock

Of the gash of a broken glass swiftly piercing the veil of 

skin I find faith in the presence of spirit, unknown 

paradise vibrating at frequencies that shake off any 

superfluous weight, meaning most shows 

in the theater of mind cancelled, with no sequels on

horizon. Above the bubbles floats the moon, divine, 

awesome, silently pulling strings on water, our waters, 

dynamic twists of fate pulling tears from my face. I am

taking well my modest apocalypse. I was pulled to the ocean

like waves spreading to their limit then pulled back, 

assured in their oneness. Walking back I notice 

even the smallest flowers in the morning face the open sky

as if saying “look up, there’s something bigger than you”.

-Hector Infante, 2019

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