no words

I can't say

what I can't put into words.

I go along solemnly searching

with a breadcrumb path of words

until I come to this minute vastness.

not overwhelming, 

but not resembling 

much of anything to reference it.

either the flashlight immediately goes off,

the road comes to an abrupt end,

the chapter of the narrative leads to a blank page,

or my senses lose their immediate clues.

whoever of me 

who does my tracking

either is totally lost or disappears.

the topic of intent becomes vacuous. 

the fog-bank of non-sensory closes in.

I am earnest but I have no translation

at the edge of these unclaimables.

oh there is a there,

but no handshake, no interactionals,

no descriptives to support 

as if verbiage would come.

in some ways, I am a mannequin of myself,

still-point presence and dumbfounded.

there is an edginess 

but how to quantify.

I am a compelling earnestness from deep within

but no registry of thought is provoked.

I am alive in my drowning 

but have no leverage, no means of making evident.

it's a compelling mirror lacking transparency.

I sense in the depth that something is there

but no dimensional senses articulates it back to me.

it's a medium truly outside my sensory range.

now I come here often.

it's the cutting edge of a meltdown,

no blade, no tools, 

just witnessing as wait.

tell me this is not in your world.

I choose not to ignore.

yet familiarity is deceitful.

sensory intent is used as an alibi. 

for me, I even question questioning.

this is a sense of boundariedness.

and I am both anxious and curious with it.

what if it doesn't ever translate?

or if it does,

it becomes sorrow or zeal?

or if it becomes energetic

beyond my capacity to animate into my being?

what if it isn't composed of know

the way that I am familiar mindfully?

I see that I can make myself apprehensive

but still, wonder ever calls me,

even if the road on has no gravity to it

or sensory has to be disrobed.

I wanted say to go with me there,

sort of as riding shotgun.

but however compelled is also a calling.

go with me

for where you are within yourself,

of course in your own way.

even if you have to leave your words behind.

and if we meet,

maybe we won't need those words 

to wondrously complete us . . .