Is Merged, As If

The body is merged, as if pages.
It went out walking without notes.
Once there—arrived—there was weather.
It looked at its hands—smiled at itself—
Unsure whether to trust the new bite.
It was a beautiful occasion. Different breads and transgressions.
And the fairground didn’t even have an open gate: the body
Moved through. I wouldn’t say I was watching: I was high in spin.
I wouldn’t say there was even a body or a ride either.
It stepped on the ground, which rose up—floated off.
God was as small as an olive. The gate closed on some
As they saw him, their eyes squinting: the body removed its skin.
The wonderful fairground behind the lights too:
If I was there—seeing that body—I may have come back to it:
There was a birth, too.
Then the body… What it did…
It hurts to say anything.
It thought of the old marks it used to make.
It remembered
Some concern, being submerged.