Tragique Mulatto

The Papyrus of Ani, 1400 B.C. Why do you return? What could they mean to you now— this flesh, these openings, these candles burning at each end of my body as if warmth and light could reach me? What is it you desire? What lack is there in Heaven? I always thought it would be terrible to be beyond change. Now we are both beyond change; there is nothing I can give you. You have returned to me in the form of a bird; your wings are large, they would enclose me. How tremulous and soft you are, your slow, feathery turnings of love, of desire. My arms are rigid at my sides. There is so much I do not want to remember. You remember everything, and cannot rest. Each transgression. Each lily slowly opening. How so many times you watched me move from innocence to bitterness, from bitterness to rage, and then forgiveness. It's strange how I had to forgive the earth for not loving me, each rock and tree, knowing all the while I did not matter, that the inanimate is beautiful because it cannot feel. Now I am inanimate. Your longing a flame that cannot wound me. Your wings embrace an emptiness like air.

Rock crystal lizard uncovered near Cortil-Noirmont, Belgium, 2nd century AD

When you read these I that was visible am become invisible, Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me, Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become      your comrade; Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now      with you.)

Judy Dater, “Imogen and Twinka at Yosemite”, 1974