stories.

there is a beginning that starts with a story. it is a story of loss.
in the telling, we tumble and sift through touches. we listen...

...and listen.

my breathing falls into the space above me.
your weight is my weight and it leans into the wooden fence where wind meets my belly.
in front of me, my eyes gather a field of long grass.
there is the sense of horses.

i remember this soft stroke of scent; the perfume of alfalfa, fescue and sweet grain rising from a velvet kiss.
inside, my bones are shifting and singing the memory of a true love.

there is a story that begins with a loss. it is the start of the sifting through.
in the tumbling, we touch and start to tell...

....and listen.

we move to a common grief. a known geography. a familiar pull. a private understanding.
your gesture is mine echoed back to me and mine is a reflection back to you.
in the chaos, there is order.
each string rings into a coherent dissonance.
here my hands carve syllables that you may read aloud.

please, tell me again...
i want to hear, this time, with the soles of my feet.

and again,
so i can taste the sweetness of a word.