Other

Don’t ask me. Don’t talk to me, don’t stare.
I do not think as you do. I am something else.
In another life I move through the mists
So easily that for me they don’t even exist.
In another place I am the weaver of waves,
The bearer of feathers, the singer of winds.
I am Other. I am a stranger to your world
And a stranger to mine. I live on the threshold.

I try not to remember. I try not to look.
I don’t watch for the path, just not to set a foot
On it ouf of a habit. I do not listen. I do not speak.
Sometimes I hide my guitar. I am afraid of its strings.
Their song reminds me. Their dance makes me weep.
I play anyway, until my hands bleed.
I am the one who blends seamlessly into a crowd
And I’m grateful to them for their thoughts, muddy and loud.

They help me not to think my own. I am adrift.
Don’t come near me. I am not what you think.
And yet I remain, though I could just leave.
For you are Other as well, Other like me.
I want to touch you. I want to feel your skin
And breathe in your hair. I am cold with fear.
In another place I was a wild thing with raven eyes
But not anymore. I almost forgot. It was almost too far.

Don’t ask me. Don’t talk to me, don’t stare.
I do not think as you do. I am something else.
In another life I move through the mists
So easily that for me they don’t even exist.
I hold on to the thread as she weaves it in,
Into my world, into the light on the leaves.
To you my woods are foreign, a thing you don’t understand.
And so to me are your streets. Where do they lead? Where does it end?