Dwelling

My head is full of thoughts, old and new

Sorted like books in a library

Consisting of chapters and episodes

Some thoughts are difficult to find space for

Finding the right genre

Others I try to push into the shelves where I know they belong

But they refuse to stay

They fall out

And end up unfolded

The sides visible in my head

Thoughts that seem to be like the pictures in a pop-up book

Thoughts I feel done and over with

Thoughts I want to leave

But they do not want to leave me

Page after page

Texts of guilt or wrongdoing laid out

I tear out the pages

Throw them away

And put the book back in place

The ripped-out pages take the form of a bird

That presses air underneath the wings and lifts

The fleeting thoughts, coloured by the purple of suffering

Revolve around my head

Constantly in my presence during the day

And watching over my bed at night

The bird is impossible to catch and impossible to get rid of

Sprung out of my own head

Nursed by my own consciousness

In due course, the wings will wear out

Tear apart and lose their former shape

Losing their ability to operate on their own

The thought becomes manageable

And I can straighten it out

Leaving just a crumpled sheet

That I now can place back in the shelf

                                    ~

Supplement: Isaiah 38:14