It is the cool basin of her skin I curl up to i press against my calmest self
and savor the fresh invitation within my own hands

It just gets deeper and deeper this
never ending route inward
and there is and less and less  resisting
And I want to laugh with myself in-hand and “say stop just relax. isn’t it nice to just be”:)

there is a calmness
a cooling fresh calmness
a just always unfolding
reassuring calmness
just laugh
get up
and linger in your purpose
and linger near the things
that meet you fully

the first time I hiked through the forest at night I was frightened And then, I just decided i could not remain scared
I trusted the bark was bark
and if I stretched my hands out  I could touch the solidness of a tree
and I trusted that the ground was ground firm beneath my feet that it would
support me and not suddenly give way
opening like a trap door
I trusted that my ears would hear
I trusted
so now I must trust that the heart
can feel ( what is truly real)

wet without rain is the color of my eyes right before they get blurry
and the saline waves  cover the horizon as far as I can see

for this second everything looks expansive
the sea at night
my pupils floating like boats over the tide
reveal that if I trust my hands
the stars above will offer guidance and the will moon lift the tears off of my face

why can i not sail comfortably through this hard weather
not deny how it pulls and sometimes feels immense

I love this world and
I love people
even the grumpy sour ones
I like the annoying ones too
and sit with scared ones
and laugh with the older and the younger ones
and try to just listen to the talkative ones
I know and will know what it is to be all of these
so I see them and my heart softens and I want to hug them all if only my arms where long enough

when you gave it your whole heart the
baked porcelain shards you picked up from the kiln
tell you
there really was so much there
too much
so much moisture that it expanded too quickly
too fast and you exploded
landed over by the thermocouple
hit the reflective coding at the top of the kiln and
was hurled down to the corner
that pieces of you even hit the center, too
and that others landed over the vases other artists had fired along with yours to bake

your whole heart did not rip or break: it blew open


fell into every part of the kiln, ate space and unwillingly
in a burst realized  expansions