My Brain

is full of ambient music and underwater breathing. It is swimming and searching and curling and unfurling. It is lifting and soaring as drops of water curve downward and splash in an ocean of sparkling jade. It is surrounded by wind as I am lifted inexorably upward, supported by graceful hands. If joy were magic it would breathe under my skin. My brain is glistening with broken fragments of memories that are not mine, all drawn into the vortex at the center: the storm where I am suspended by everything that is arrestingly lovely and I reach my hand out to grasp the hurtling pieces as they fall and I see that they are right. They are that which has lived before and that I let live again within me. My brain is magical; the hand that holds this world is magical.