Transformation as a form
of trance does not guarantee
that delirious centipede trapped
in a Franz Kafka dream
will tear through the fabric
of mute nightmares and recursive
mutations to become a little girl
in white dress lost in the cloud
of dandelions just a few steps
from the garden fence
and her mother smiling obliviously
to the blank serene sky.

Transition as a form of
transmission feeds on itself
from vibration to vibration
broadcasting every want
liberated by every heartbeat
pushing the universe to expand
a little more, so a little boy
with bruised knees will run again
towards his father turning the corner
of a country lane immersed
in the soft light of one July
evening that never ends.