songs from the gap.

what makes me so special?

for the first time, ask it.

dangling on the brink of unemployment and i am still at peace with my soul. i resigned from a job that fed me in many ways but, ultimately asked for the contortions of my integrity. and, i said no.

i sleep at night.

i do. but, i wake early, a little twisted in the sheets about what is next.

nothing less than the best. aim high. shoot for the stars.

that's what my grandma told me yesterday.

that i am talented enough to do anything i want to do.

it mattered so much that she said that to me.

has it been said before? or is this the first time i'm hearing it?

it mattered so much to hear it.

so, before i rush to fill in the gap, color in the spaces...i pause.

what is this world needing from me? what am i here to offer?

it is time NOW for me to fully come forward with my gifts and talents.

no more playing small.

no more survival games.

no more settling " for now".

NOW is NOW.

what am i here to do?

what makes me so special, indeed?

tonight.

let me dream it. see it. feel it in my body.

when i wake, may i live it.

the next step...alive with joy, abundance, truth, meaning.

the next step...me fully in my light and power and love.

me....bringing it!

expanding.

fear.

feel it where you feel it. feel it where you can't feel it.

let it spread, like ink.

let it seep into the rest of you. arms, legs, belly, back.

come back from that place you sail to.

the one behind you, up and out and away.

lift your arms. feel the movement.

a little breath out. just to take the edge off.

and to feel this more.

fear.

I can do it.

I can do it.

I can do it.

it slowly comes to me. in a way that i can receive.

like wings of slow, moving birds. elegantly. soft,

like a secret whispered.

everything about this is repair.

permission. invitation. validation.

eyes and ears that stand with me in the holiness of

terror.

that the body remembers, doesn't make it true.

touch the emotion.

and blow into its ear, send it's force scattering like leaves

to the places that remain still

and silent

and, afraid.

tolerate that gap of dark night, where nothing moves

but monsters.

let your eyes adjust to the density

and soon it will be easier to see.

your feet will fall before you. the path will draw closer.

the earth will feel solid again.

from a fluid beginning of uncertain shadow,

grew the coil of a thick, tight vine;

binding breath. binding joy. binding life.

every step walks me closer into the untying.

into the unraveling.

opening the contractions and letting loose the screams.

the central core swims to surface, awaiting a full, long breath;

wave after wave after wave.

growing wider.

i run faster into the moment and don't look back; it is not the direction I'm going.

with a shudder,

my multiflowered feathers stand and catch the wind

that blows through. it's an autumn evening, full of all hallow's eve,

full of ghost stories and chills and thrills.

and, I can walk the hall and stand the shivering.

i can do this.

what my body and brain fear are not me.

i am not fear.

i am not afraid.

I can do this.

I can do this.

I can do this.

leaving the midline crisis.

fragment.

everything is blurring and whirring. manythoughtscrowdaroundmyears. I

am

looking

for

a

little

bit

of

space.

to

breathe.

to

think.

to o r g a n i z e.

it is the hardest thing to look you in the eyes.

a new kind of pain,

a novelty of effort,

just,

to look you in the eyes.

because,

ifeelsoworthless.like,ishouldbethrownoutwiththetrash.ormadeinvisible.orturnedtonothing.

i look.

again and again.

i look.

i try.

there are razorblades in my legs

sawing sideways. heavy weights and pain

and nothing

nothing

n o t h i n g

frommybellyup.

hold the bones in this arm

and let me remember how to feel who i am.

it is a long walk home.

there is a slippery stardust, the stuff that keeps the planets apart,

sliding along my bones.

there is a scream

that orbits inside the chaos. everythingisthisscream.

muscles hug tight the skeleton, more and more. bound. bound. bound.

tighter and tighter until they squeeze inside the marrow.

try to disappear.

try to disappear.

try to disappear.

my leftleg aches with awakening, threaded across my right arm. do you remember the plastic molds at buschgardens? the quarter for the press and hot synthetic smell and the wait, wait, wait for a green rhinoceros?

i do. i am . i am. i am. that.

i see your faces on this sunny day. in this happy family moment. i smell the plastic animals. i feel the concrete ground. the blue sky. the sun. your smiles, fading. fading. fading.

i am going into my bones.

screaming.

and i am shattering.

splitting shards of sharp, shamed glass stretch like dandelions into the sky.

spreading like sunshine spilled on a black, moonless night.

go further. go further. go further.

pull the edges of space and let all that is left collapse at the center.

let there be nothing left of this.

go further. go further.

i do not want to come back.

but they do. the edges of a wound find their way home to each other and busy themselves with the repair. gravity pulls us back to try again.

we need to feel the pain. we must tend to the swelling and heat. we must blaze with the injury.

we must. we must. we must scar.

at my best attempt, i stood in the middle of the centrifuge and unfurled a rage to keep myself blown apart.

yet, the pieces pulsed back to me.

the me at the midline of it all, who stood and watched, fearlessly.

the pieces pulsed back to me like leaves drifted on the shifts of a whirlpool, carrying themselves back to the tributaries, resting once more in the swing of an easier current.

now, the old pain rings the bell.

and i rock from heel to heel,

forward and back.

letting the parts assemble, gather and sew.

returning. returning. returning.

a.m.a.z.e.

rest next to me and

open your heart

because

each moment we have together is a

reason

to live.

when did the gods decide that you

and i would someday meet and

love and

know that

every wrong turn we ever took

returned us back together.

trail.

here

again

at the end of the trail of breadcrumbs,

deeper in the wood than before,

in dark, in dark.

by now, the threat of silence

outwitting the cries of the hunt.

is noone on their way?

pale white feet stir the only edges of light,

digging themselves down into

dirt and leaves.

those same hands hold a jewel.

it's spectacular shape is crowded by the blackening nightfall.

it's shine smolders with no stars to see it.

the trail is marked with glowing bags of sand,

offered with a leap of courage.

the signposts laid out with care; a pinch of bread, a ribbon tied,

a heart shaped invitation.

but, something stays hidden in this treasure map.

in the spot marked X, something is lost.

where the steps are taken, the traveler will find the gold.

so, it waits. so, it waits.

something for my pocket.

i have promised myself to stay with myself through this gritty, grimy time full of longing and edginess and angst and opening and shedding and sorting and all the other things that are swirling in my center.

an anniversary holds me this week, this month..hell, the last couple of months.

it surprises me how strongly things are affected by things that go unresolved.

o, sisters. where are you? i've lost my threads to family. and. i. don't. know.where.to. go. from. here.

it makes me want to move. literally. move. leave this address, tear up these roots and kiss goodbye all that's behind me and start fresh. new. somewhere else. someone else.

i've done that before. it doesn't make it the wrong choice for the situation at hand, but it does require a second look. at least i will say that i have earned some wisdom along the way.

so. i. stay. for now. until the clouds part and things come a little clearer.

it's not just this. or them. though, the losses are immeasurable and influence every small thing, i am certain.

it is impossible to find my center right now.

returning to the tribe, to witness, to sense, to courageously linger at the trembling....this is all i remember to do.

firecrackers are going off. i feel like a bird who has mistakenly nested in the iron embrace of a cannon's interior, assuming the wars are over. sleep, little bird....rest and watch the dazzle of the sky and feel how soft your heart beats..then, boom! feathers and bones and bits of me and fragments of song splashed like sickness all over the trees. it's a mess. more and more. it's a mess.

but, here's the thing.

sitting with it and looking in the details of the smashings and shatterings....things change. Nothing is static that is paid attention to. Everything changes and shifts, if even in the smallest of ways.

this is where Pema Chodron bears her guileless smile and reminds me to "lean in". yes, feel the sharp edge tug through your skin and yes, feel the blood trickle out and down your body and yes, feel the pain and yes, feel the fear and anguish and yes, feel the space around it grow larger and yes, feel that it, too, is moving into something else. it is the holding back that hurts us most. it is the denying what we feel that deals us the worst blow.

i lean in.

I feel confusion spin in my body. I don't know where to be. I don't know who I belong to. I don't know why I am here. I don't know why I matter. I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I am so angry. or sad. or frustrated or lost. or confused.

I am judging myself for this experience. I allow it.

I am bored with hearing myself whine. I allow it.

I am sick and tired of "working" at feeling like a healthy, happy and "normal" person. I allow it.

I am in physical pain. I allow it. I accept it.

I allow and I accept.

I feel grouchy and prickly and I am afraid of interacting with people today because I feel like this. I accept this.

I don't want to be my own friend today, I wonder why anyone else would want to be. I accept this.

I'm tired. I'm in pain. I'm stuck. I feel unloveable. ok. ok. ok.

bigger than these cries of woe, is a larger something that has the capacity to smile and wink and lift me up into arms that already know that everything is just fine. I allow this. I accept this.

It's ok for me to spin a little out of control.

it's ok for me to wobble and feel dark , sticky things.

i still am loveable.

i still can love myself.

i'll sit just outside the door for the parts when things are being hurled across the room.

but, from that place, I'll keep listening and sliding love notes under the door.

" dearest,

it is ok that you are mad as a hornet and sad and afraid and changeable and unpredictable. I know you got some stuff that's working through you and it's healing you. you're in the ring with some pretty big monsters and all i see is you holding your own. i'm right here. i've got your back. i don't love you any less because you show your teeth and feel into the holiness of that rage that's finally sprouting from the soil. you've been working for this. what feels like a reckoning is a reclamation. other people might not get that at all, my friend, but i do. i do. this is big and this is good. keep growling. keep tearing at the floorboards. keep howling and swimming in tears. you are immersed in the journey of thriving. i believe in you. i love you."

wake. a work in progress.

the sun is down.

the sun is out.

the universe is in chaos.

planets spin beyond their orbits,

stars collide.

the big bang bangs.

the universe looms without light.

approaching, retreating.

the straight and narrow U-turn.

all the cars crash, diving into the intersections with caution and carelessness.

hold my arm and

touch the global metaphor; there is some reason to be here that I cannot locate.

there is a longing that sets fire to my bones.

and the back of my skin slides down, resigned.

it feels at first like that shimmering emptiness ,then it is

hot and centrifugal, spewing vagrancies into thin air.

feel the dirt strike my body,

the crumple of my dress when I'm thrown by the trajectory of beauty

becoming .

behold, the sting of art as it escapes from the sealed jar of sameness.

there is terror in the reckoning.

there is redemption from those long, hard seasons.

horses, run from your gate

and tear the earth open with your hooves,

so that we may hear the depth of her

sweet soul singing.

horses never lie

singing to myself,

i alone am

the moon,

hidden between the crook of my elbow and the nape of my neck,

somewhere in the

punctuation of a sigh.

a full spin of the ball of confusion finds us kneeling at a riverbed,

waiting for more leaves to fall.

it is autumn again.

and, again.

still, i am dreaming of

bones

and dirt

and what it would be like to fly

and find the landing

catch me, soft, like sand.

what it was like to stretch into sinewy corners and

find water.

what it was like to expand like a flame; hot. wild.

still.

i am telling a story

that is beginning to bore me.

a pale sadness closes around a more tender rage and

there is no more room left to move.

nothing changed when you left,

except everything.

now my hands meekly shape this prayer

into gratitude.

in some future voice, joy will explain it all to me

and, together,

you and i

might laugh.

wave.

rain soaked. sweat soaked.

tired from the steam and storm. moving my way towards me again. edging closer.

seems like the bucket got itself turned over again. I'm here looking at a bunch of odds and ends. another dance, in the heat of a thick crowd, with good good music this time....i moved even more. even bigger. even with some contact, but no weight. or maybe I rolled over a couple of backs a couple of times. maybe I'll feel it later. or now a little. yes. but, there it is. worth it, i guess. the small dance inside the big dance. the subtle language of the blood or bones. the nuance of a footstep. even cooler in the midst of chaos...to go slow, go in, go deep. watch the thread that begins the thought and quiet the chatter that scatters like birds from a shaken tree. to see old friends, faces...find new ones. to touch my own shy sight and bold moves simultaneously. to watch the little dialogues talking me into the corner. to dance anyway. with the right to be. my heart stirs, pulls the blanket up and rolls over. taking its time. funny how a new me emerges every so often. what happened to those old mes? just like the fire, coming back to an old home, but as a different me. somehow stranger and old friend at once. out of place. out of sorts. almost harder to penetrate the awkwardness, almost easier, like there never was a space. but, there was. sort of a ghost of a ghost, watching the whole strange show. pulled from the patterns and dropped in with something familiar.

path.

and this song that's rising

is for you

as a gratitude

you know, there've been all kinds of goings on inside me, kinda like a crowd of people all hurrying to get somewhere, looking over their shoulders, yawning up to their tippy toes to see over the person next to them, on the lookout, on the edge, looking out for, watching, anticipating......

it's a crowd of hot summer, some exhaust and collapse and lie down in the middle of the sidewalk, others amplify their pacing, some bristle and balk at the brush of a passerby, others reach for something to hold and squeeze too hard or else come up empty handed. it's a tough bunch.

the real truth is, the lot of them are starting to quiet themselves. they're more apt now to curl up on that plushy sofa and dig into a good book or else walk more leisurely off the beaten path, where the trees bend down and dance in the wind. and notice.

move

feeling its time to come back to this. words on a page. getting comfy with the voice again. ahem....is this thing on?

today I feel happy. yes, happy. not because of any one thing, but because of everything. because, I'm here. I'm still here and I mean it. I feel my body. I feel the little surges down my legs that buzz and hum almost to the distraction of discomfort. but. there is vitality and spark that is reclaiming the empty spaces.

I danced again tonight. I haven't danced in months, I think. The way these muscles have been hugging close to the bone has detoured me to other roads. The lumbar speaks. The sacrum squeals. I've been ham strung and waiting. It's been like nothing before. I decide it will not last this way. Pain has its own way to get my attention.

But, I've been listening for a while now and now I'm going to push the edge a bit. I still know that dance is the paradoxical way home. And, there is balance.

Walking through the simmer of another day of the heatwave, my body felt lazy, tired & more inclined to curl up with the rest of the visceral book I'm reading than to actually inhabit my viscera in motion. But, I pushed. I nudged. I walked myself to the invitation.

I danced, shook, trembled, rolled, stretched, reached, spun, paused, breathed....all the little things getting bigger. My back spoke and I rocked back to my heels, listened and slowed then, gradually accelerated again. A dosing of the comeback. the comehome. little by little, bigger by bigger.

It was a prayer. A dialogue. A speak and listen. A sacred gift given and received. Enough to revive my heart with a great helping of humility. Movement is mandatory.

I am covered in sweat and smiling for all the wakings in my heart. When I dance, all the things that have been lodged inside my skin from all the bumping around in the dark, shake loose. I remember something very important about me. I smile. I've been gone a long time and it's good to see you, old friend.

ten

it was summer,

when

all the small things were busy with their singing,

stinging and staying in the center of their own

centripetal spinning and

she went inside out.

told to fold herself into a silence,

she was stars burning out their own brilliance.

autumn never came,

and winter waited like a wise, old moon.

it's summer,

again.

now heat peels back the skin of secrets and

shows the living things hidden under death

and time could care less.

one fist wraps tight around an old fear, the

other expands against contraction,

to stretch into the room:

a noon of plastic helplessness and rage,

black coffee and aspirin,

day after day,

blacking out the sun, calling all things night.

willing sleep to sleep

and fire to founder.

it is time to wake.

wrap your fingers around the pin,

and pull.

she does. and her is and was are set free.

out of fragile skin, sings sharp, dark edges,

glass trembles and shivers into fine dust,

a warp of a scream singes the blind eyes.

what was hers is hers.

and these years later, this rage is ready.

from the center of bone comes a surge, a

swell, a voice reclaimed.

this is a no. this is a never.

this is the distance. this is the hard line.

and after the scorch of this hot season,

rain will fall and the earth will gather in

and listen, listen...

and, finally hear.

boom!

one thing I remember is how to shut up.

it's the laughter at the table that is the big crime.

Daddy's trying to study for the big test.

and you, little child, are a chaos of noise.

bind all that freedom into pocket size bundles and hold them still until spoken to.

and then, expect not to be spoken to

for some time.

my foot came down hard on this land mine.

I was in the field, skipping, delighted, full and free with a big, open heart

and suddenly,

I'm scattered everywhere in the trees and trash.

exploded.

**********

passing beauty.

suddenly I had the feeling that he might have had in that moment when he had to have realized that life was over as he knew it and that every last everything that had to do with that body, that mind, that voice, that name, that life, that heart, that soul was dissolving in a mandatory surrender. how frightened he must have felt. how frightened I felt to imagine it. to anticipate it.

and so, knowing this moment comes for me someday, what shall I do to prepare? can I surrender now to the impermanence, the transience of this dream of a life? this short blink of this name I'm called, this love I feel, this fear.....leaves for a season and in a season, gone.

grief comes galloping in. for him. for me. for all this passing beauty.

roses and ruins.

sometimes it has to be written in order to put it a certain distance away from myself; in order to see it and hear it.

time is traveling fast. three and a half months now since dad passed away. longer for the beginning marker of this topsy turvy journey. there are weeks of rest. rest, meaning time away from staring it in the face. periods of integration, I guess you could call them.

for weeks, I followed a bliss that burst in my heart. there is a paradoxical joy blooming from the losses. it continues. this man, this sweet and tender heart, this surprise that unlocks the hidden places in me, leaves me awed and humbled by my own reflections...he is a great gift. I recognize this blessing. And with all my courage and gratitude, I receive, I receive, I receive.

In the last couple of days? weeks?, the sediment has been unsettled and I'm once again wading in a water that leaves a thin film of something gross on my skin. I'm in the ring with my siblings and we are having to take on the task of dad's estate and assets. There is difference of opinion, there is unnamed rage and pain, there is judgement, shame and blame loose in the wind. It has taken it's punches at me, and I have faltered. This faltering has reeled me back onto my heels and, now, I notice...even with the newest of loves...I am guarding and protecting and taking on the whole of the world as if the whole of the world wants me dead.

this is my note to myself.

not true.

I emerged from this ragged race a while ago with something sure. Strength. Power. Joy. Fearlessness. ME.

I had a conviction and intention to live my life fearlessly and boldly. My heart, the driver. My mind, playing the crossword in the back seat. I let happiness in. Let him in. Let myself in. I took leaps and felt the wind sing in my wings.

I can still be that. I can still fly. I can still CHOOSE happiness and FEARLESSNESS.

I CHOOSE LOVE!

This is a more complicated dive, only. that's all. I am learning to stay in my heart. LOVE, yes. AND. AND. AND.

exercise boundaries and limits and NO I wont' be treated thisa way.

I taste ease. I taste what it is to flow and let love in and happiness just come to me. I taste the memory of YES, THIS IS MY BIRTHRIGHT.

I get around my sisters and all hell breaks loose in me. I forget so fast.

I swing back down to the ground and eat dirt. go all invisible and worthless and shaped like shit.

I caught it last night. Caught myself sinking in the muck.

After a 3 hour marathon of hissing and hiding and swimming in the mire of the field of fog......my good heart spilled out sideways and all my fears and lonelinesses and worthlessnesses and and and just laid themselves smack across his forehead and everyword he said was theirs and I fell hard and sad. I turned away and declared my incompetence and failure at relationship. I turned away. and, caught myself in the turning and turned right back around to face him. I began to name the misdirections I was running in because he, this gift, this gift....laughed and tickled and poked and played and said, with a smile and a sweetness, that infuriated me at the time, that he was not going to go down with this ship. He KNEW it was not about us and here I was acrobatting to make it so. He saw the pain and some stark wisdom held the ground for us.

I was left alone with me. All the pain, insecurity, victimization, anger, invisibility, worthlessness, misunderstanding......me. Me and a room full of mirrors.

My God, what gift was I handed by this.

This man moves right into my soul and comes out, arms full of roses and ruins. It scares me that he sees it. And, it matters to me more than I can say outloud.

I don't want to tangle in this soap opera anymore.

I don't want this drama.

I want this love.

I step back from the family and try with all my heart to see them for who they are. To gain enough distance so that I stop taking everything so damn personally. no matter what they say or do or think about me, I have to let it go and recognize that it doesn't determine who I am. They have no control over me. They don't ever have to see me or understand me or get it right about me. Truly, NO ONE does. EXCEPT ME.

I am the only one in the world I have to get square with and be okay with. I am the only one in the world who really has to love me.

This is the next leg of the journey for me.

Me.

path.

on a trail, in a blaze of sun,

ice sliding underneath my feet,

I am kissed by dapples of light.

the trees are bare and silent, but swaying, dancing , listening .....

smiling.

Spring is jumping the puddles and laughter is

ringing through the branches

like the tinkling of bells.

we are in the territory of the heart,

stepping the well worn paths,

surprised by the sudden rocks and roots and ravines.

we are wandering wide on the unmarked trails,

discovering life brimming in the untraveled earth.

we are walking blind, side by side, trusting the shift of shadow on our skin,

relying on the song of things surrounding us;

believing in the song of things within.

My hand leans its soft weight into a plush, electric green pillow.

It feels like the beginning of an unendable smile.

I invite you to touch it, too.

and, you do.

ghosts.

the dead rise.

the skin peels back and dry red threads spill out.

the terror did not go with your going.

I heard your voice thunder down on me.

your sharp, cracked hooves split the ground where I stood.

You reigned down. like rain.

wet and feral and fierce.

all bluster and blame,

hissing like a pot boiled over.

"black. black. black." you cried,

branding me with your rage.

for a moment, I stumbled.

struck by a sudden blow, my feet faltered.

I recover.

Feet firm, connecting to the roots that stretch me into my strength and power,

I brush off this dust and dirt, grit and gravel, stone and stampede.

hear this.

you faceless, fearful force of fury.....

you are smoke and mirrors,

nothing to me.

whatever bones you occupy, I will forever recognize your stench

and I will not bend or melt because of it.

I recover.

Your wave after wave of terrible storms is nothing but spit on the wind.

I no longer run from you.

I will stand and stare into your empty eyes and all your hauntings will lose their shape.

Without my fear, you don't stand a chance.

This hand of mine that holds this end of thread,

holds this end of thread softly.

I am woven by my ancestors

and, with my ancestors, I will dance,

joyfully.

The legacy of monsters does not continue with me.

receive.

winter is wrapping around me,

stilling my skin and bones, breaking my impulse to move.

my skin is a shiver and shake.

the day crawls from a crouch to a low lean, never quite standing tall,

never quite in motion.

I've submerged myself in music and musings,

searching my soul for a song.

now, the evening breathes heavily down my neck and I am to break from the ice to go discovering.

a pause in the words to hear a story about beauty in all the impossible places.

and, I wonder, and I wish,

can I learn to let this in?

I'd begun to memorize the script of the old days; the hollowed out soliloquies, the surrenders to stone.

Is this a trick of the light, this dazzling light?

I keep waking to a smile stretched across my dreaming, I keep feeling the weight of my heart being held.

All this summer seeping into my room, tearing off the blankets and languishing in the simmer; a coastline of gold placed in my palm.

a gift, a gift, a gift.

and a thank you.

garden.

We arrive upon a garden, wild with abuse or abandon,

and discover in our hands, the magic of how to invite things to grow.

Our fingers dig and reach rock and root and riches.

Our arms ache with the abundance of earth.

We have come here to plant and sow and weed and grow,

to know the things we nurture,

to call each flower by its name.

How sudden and sweet to realize, it is we who are tended and grown by this garden.

Every bloom that arises, a perfect surprise.

Our own revealed colors, a mystery.

terra incognita

a wide, white ribbon

is the stretch of the arms of the gods,

meeting my reach and surrender.

it is time to lay down on this solid green earth

and laugh.

the unshakeable hideouts are shaking.

light is shimmering on every blade of grass.

it is time to stand up in this everclear sky

and cry.

sorrow has come and gone; loneliness, too.

that old, weathered road is starting to show its weeds

and soon it will be hard to find.

this step now, with these new and naked soles,

is the start of a path; a worthy road to ride.

how to expand in this inhale and let the world and all it's love come rushing in?

it comes in these soft hands, these soft eyes, tendered with tears.

I am given these words to hold and my hands fumble to know their shape.

They are the sweetest songs that I have never heard before.

This new music tangles my tongue and catches my breath.

how to open my mouth and drink in the swell of this sea?

it comes like untamed rain and I have been accustomed to a teaspoon; patient for another drop.

now, there is an invitation to step into this dance,

trust my weak knees, my stumbles and fumbles.

It is my turn to jump these feet into the muddy puddle, to feel the splash all the way up to my smile and to recognize that this untameable laugh is my own.

it begins.

let me stay curled inside this moment for as long as I might.

old histories are singing like swans, relinquishing their hoarse

voices to the hush of a thunderous joy. inside of

each thin shadow, a delicate light is growing.

i am the star within the sky within the star,

she said, long ago. i have carried a

handful of wishes in a pocketful of holes. With

every step, I leave a trail that someday, something

real and magical might be recovered by this journey that will

end with its beginning.

open.

in the pause, I sort the tangle.

I tug at the threads;

the reds,

the blues.

weaving like a net from there to here,

the chaos to the clarity.

these humble hands fold together and soften like tiny animals

under a cloud of rain.

accepting, surrendering

and

calling from that smallest flicker of flame,

for the next deep exhale.

I have stood under a million stars and awed myself silent

so many times.

miracles happen.

remember that.

now.

swim, little fish, swim.

just from this small distance, i can catch a wave to ride

and feel the surge and tug and lose my sky in an instant.

the ground is up and all my limbs are cartwheeling.

the nearness of you does it.

the guess of when next I can burrow my self into the curve of your neck

and smile against your scent.

there is still some time to take another deep breath, and

another.

the wanting to fall headlong into the rush and the waiting to find the stillness of the deeper currents.

all of it is swimming.

and the best way to enjoy it is to stop all the flapping and flailing,

surrender to the stretch and buoyancy,

lie back and let the

water fold me into its fingers while we touch this weightless dance.

and, with a full and bold breath,

I lean into the weight of the depth;

let the body of the sea press itself certainly against me,

and then dive into the everchanging, renewable force of love.

tag

thinking I must've sat myself down on the sharp end of cupid's little arrow.