Reading with

Reading with my eyes closed
because sometimes one has to allow more space and time
for the words to stretch between those dancing lights the eyes create when they’re squeezed shut.

Reading with my eyes closed
It makes more sense
Giving room for sound and dream
To b r e a t h e
To eee-nun-ci-yate

In bed at night
Text becomes a blanket
It helps me hide away:
my face, my tummy, my toes and finger tips, my bad temper from today
the story unfolds and the blanket becomes a tent
a new home
established in my own dark matter

Reading with my eyes closed
And my hair so wet
And my feet too dry to make contact with the ground
They might –at any point– crack and break
I remain put,
I don’t worry,
Because the author will come now and become a new friend
From the beyond,
Beyond the pages.

Reading with my eyes closed
It’s a secret performance
My inner voice shadows a whole theater
Taking every opportunity to improvise
It doesn’t shake or hesitate
It owns my imagination
I’m not a stranger anymore
I’m the performer and the audience

Reading with my eyes closed
How many eyes do I really need
to see the truth between the lines
to see flowers bloom and children born
into an unfortunate reality that keeps renewing itself
So
I open my hands to receive as much words as possible
I fill my palms, my arms, my mind, and my chest with words
I line them on a new perspective
I keep them safe in naivety
An unpredictable corner
Then I close my eyes
and read