It And I

when you become the it
in that horizontal house
and when you rise above
the everyday itineraries

we are told by those who
have not gone there
that there is narrow tunnel
and there is a light at the end

some say there is a white bird
half-man waiting to fly you away
it could be a fact
but i am in no position to speak

i am not yet an it.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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