and I am open like the gates of fallen city,
waiting to be sacked and razed.
Moments before there was chatter in my skull,
a myriad voices connecting each sensation with that,
judging in ornate detail each movement.
But before the triumphant armies come,
before their blare and horns arrive,
before the battering ram unleashes,
its plunging action depth undenied.
Before the terrible throngs that tear at tender skin.
There is quiet in the mind,
and all weight and pressure becomes undone,
leaving, left, and lorn,
a quiescence of acceptance.