Because you, body-brain, gave me my firsts— 

like language long before words—

is it you who offers sounds, words, and sentences,

and then clicks them together like looping linked lights

swooping across lamposts like jungle vines?

Love is saying I choose

your life and your right

to live long enough to fight.

Could we craft a raft from what unravels us?

When spring sap is just sticky pus bleeding from

angry skin, soul, and stomach, afraid to speak.

In a separate bowl, combine:
2 tbsps of humour
1 cup of art and music
1 ¼ cup of melted passion and joy

Be still love, I’ll say.

When we listen, all will be

felt and is okay.

Thoughts orbit—

planets alienated from one another, 

looping ancient wreathes 

around a burning, 

untouchable star, 

unable to graze each other.

Today I watched

the sky break apart.

It was indecipherable

There was a time I thought my own

mental, spiritual, and physical shame

needed forensics when there was no crime.

They just needed love, breath, and space. 

Shadows cake the air that trails our bodies—

wool cloaks slithering up

the backs of couches and kitchen chairs,

across the walls and down the stairs.

I imagine your thumbs padding

against the bottom half of 

the glass screen, every

twenty-four hours or so.