Rites of Passage

First came the endless running,
Born as it were from box to box
And then plunged head-first into dark endless rooms,
All I had were dry feet
That froze mid-flight
When my body got stuck in doorways.

Then I banged into high walls
Silent and afraid of my words swallowing others,
Just as they awoke at night
And devoured me whole like Jonah’s whale;
I am puked out on desert sand each morning,
Thorn trees for shade and pain.

Now I breathe and unbreathe
In and out of dark and shadows,
And experiments with living bring confusion
Whether this is the beginning or the end stage
Of transition, is the rain salty and pouring
On a sarcophagus where I am stuck once more?