The Chanteuse Tells Me Stories

Each night, for a year, I listened.
The Chanteuse told me stories
of how it was before, before the
time of now, before I measured
life by how many books I could read.
She told me allegories of swans,
of ants, of bees. She told me of
the string that connects the top
of my head to the heavens.
She told me of trap doors and
apertures in the luminous body
where one could see the sanctity
o f  t h e  u n i v e r s e . . .