when my soul turned round,
perceiving the other-side of everything…
Whispers wake me.
I return home
behind a procession of swans
to an island in the heart of Paris.
On the cliffs where the wild ones come
to show themselves,
I sing this whistling song,
look at the other side of the world
as if a deck of cards spread out
to peek under and flip over
for a glimpse at the hidden side.
The dream opens forgotten realms of creation.
I think that’s what time is.
This poem was previously published in the multi-award-winning poetry collection by Helene Cardona entitled Dreaming My Animal Selves (Salmon Poetry 2013): https://www.salmonpoetry.com/details.php?ID=281&a=240