Transcendental Harmonies

Why, whenever I yearn to be taken to a new place
voluntarily,
my eyes open and I am underground?
Fists clenched in soil,
worms under my fingernails-
where I was supposed to be,
but am not.
Facade, theatricality,
you cannot fool me.
Once my mind realizes this fact,
the grains of dirt melt
to a liquid glass and I,
I am sinking (but not drowning),
I am sneezing underwater but I,

I will always be sinking closer to You.