Your or You're

That's what it's for
just that moment
months and weeks and days later
and sometimes
years and decades and millennia after
when a little vortex will open up
right under you
a breathing, pounding hole
on sea shore and river bed
a little hole will open up and swallow you
and suddenly you'll slip past
commas and full stops and exclamation marks
through a tunnel where your words will make sense to you
and only you
when the darkness is so bright you can see
strands of hair
fighting, shouting
splitting.
when you and only you
can make sense of the lines in your palm
the prints of fingers
the swimming browns of your eyes
when words, random and at will
will jump up
jump out
right out
somewhere near your navel
and climb up
to your eyes
your ears
up the steep incline of your nose
until your eyes cross just to see them
words that
bounce and trill
and dance
to your meter
your magic
floating on your breath like
silk cotton
red, wispy and whimsical
or dark poppy, heavy, dripping sap
or they might sit
just sit
swinging their legs upon the curve of your ear
a stray eyebrow
run riot on that little bit of thinning hair.
and as suddenly as it began
back up you go
through the hole
the tunnel
sucking air.
holding on to slippery skin
to whooshing air
hoping
hoping
that maybe some of those words are still there.
back up,
the sea is calm
run your hands through your hair.
shake your head and say
it sounded so much better in my head.