Dust road humming, towers like worn teeth, Boot prints tangle in the whispering wheat. Found a black coin sleeping in the dirt, Sky like a shoebox photo, yellowed and blurred. Camera stutters—world double-exposed, A latch in my ribs lifts, clicks, and holds. I’m not a ghost—I’m twice alive, I came to take back what I left behind. The quiet sets a chair, pours water wide; I step through the silence like an open sign. I just recently saw the Field Where I Died, and the wind spelled out my name in dust. I walked away with my shadow untied, heart like a war drum—boom, boom, trust. Not here to haunt—here to reclaim; I took my breath back, I took my name. Monoliths leaning like old cathedrals, Grass hisses secrets in rattles and needles. Somewhere a friend called my name years away, Measuring stick in a thunderless day. The dog of the field gave a tired little sigh— Even the stones seemed to nod, “All right.” I’m not a wound; I’m the healed black line, Stitched by the sun and a patient time. The past unlatches, swings open wide; I step through the doorway I once denied. A coin. A torn photo. A broken watch. A matchbook. A note with a shaky scrawl. I leave them on the gate for the next to find— I was buried here once… I’m not buried at all. I just recently saw the Field Where I Died, and the wind spelled out my name in dust. I walked away with my shadow untied, heart like a war drum—boom, boom, trust. Not here to haunt—here to reclaim; I took my breath back— I took my name. Light leaks—yellow, pink, violet—fade, Rearview towers shrink into a single blade. I drive with the window down, unafraid, The latch in my chest still open, still brave. (Sounds, voices and music made with Suno. Script: Patrick Bernauw.) Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/greetings-from-the-fourth-dimension--6832277/support. You've never seen these colors before A place that you've never been We greet you at the door Welcome to the fourth dimension You've never been so alive Now that you made it Tell me Are you stayin'? Patrick Bernauw is a writer of historical fiction and magical realism. He is living in Flanders, the Dutch speaking part of Belgium. Maybe he'll turn this podcast into a book someday, who knows. This episode includes AI-generated content.
