The Morse Code Of Eternal Dreams Poem by Christine Austin Cole

The dirt embedded beneath my fingernails -
so perfectly, so fully now,
[I could grow things there
but for the lack of sunlight]–
I raise my hands above me again, certain this time
I’ll break through.
I have mastered the art of shallow breathing,
parting my lips just barely and just long enough
to draw life in one infinitesimal dose at a time;
dose after dose after tiny dose meticulously spaced
with long, breath-holding pauses in between...
my very own near-morbid Morse code.

My eyes, useless in the unforgiving dark,
surrender to the images that are born of blindness.
I am in a house, bare foot and barely dressed;
half awake. I am smiling.
The smell of fresh coffee fills
the room, my tomb, as a gentle breeze
[that cannot exist here]
drifts in through an open window
and dances across my skin.

Another night is setting in.

I can hear rainfall and give myself
temporary permission to believe that I can
feel its moisture seeping through
to wet my fingertips - promptly
forgetting that I meant it
to be momentary thing.

In the dark, I feel the air warm
between us as you lean into me.
The beautifully familiar feeling
of your head laying itself to rest
upon my chest as the storm moves in,
feels like coming home.

For a moment, I’m no longer alone.

Behind you, my fingers continue to
work the earth. Their scratching, the patter
of rain, your heartbeat, my Morse code…
fuse into a twisted, endless rhythm.
Somewhere above [beyond this place]
the trees bend themselves to listen.

The line between what is and is not
fades as life moves on without me.
I am suddenly certain your hair is grayer
than the last time I held you –
even my worthless eyes can’t manage
to deny the truth of this.

I pause and in Morse code, I wish.

The dirt embedded beneath my fingernails -
so perfectly, so fully now –
I raise my hands above me again…


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