Oxidation

Surrounded by thoughts and feelings that refuse translation,

I have melted my mind in deliberate ways—

careless of what comes after.

Sometimes I try to leave myself entirely,

hovering in that quiet distance

like an astronaut watching Earth turn

in its dark aquarium—

blue, remote, spinning, whether I belong to it or not.

From there, everything becomes music.

My thoughts blur into a melody I know by heart

while the lyrics dissolve

before I can say them aloud.

They say the body is a temple.

But what ritual cleans a ruined altar?

What prayer brightens metal already gone dull?

How do you restore copper

once the green of oxidation has taken hold?

It feels like a hand beneath a frozen lake,

reaching slowly toward the surface—

fingers pressed against the underside of the ice,

waiting for someone above

to see the movement

and pull you through

into air again.