dear friend,
sometimes this awareness of being alive comes and rests in the air of my throat, and I can almost swallow, but I am not sinking.
we are as halo as we can be in the language we are made out of, and in the language made out of us. we are queens of light-outs, we are kingdoms of midday hair, we are freedoms in our flickering lights when the voltage breathes in and out of bulbs
we are seeded balance, a skin-made strength, a spinning space in grand schemes, a subtraction from all else, darts of fate now learning what shoulders can do, how bones can bend, like pages, close and open like folds, like pages made out of body
and when we throw our heads back, and give, and just give, then we are so unheard and so heard and all the spaces bridge and we are such a part of
everything
my heart is finding its breath again; whirlwind words from point a to point b, from this bone to this bone; ya rab, ya rab, ya rab
(the answers build, the laughter slips)
our gazes forever trained to sky, our verses forever made out of the luck of a bird tunnelling into the air between tree branches
and the climax: always one breath that brings soul to your lips; almost, almost, and all the parts of the universe fit,
and so do we,
and so do we.
