I, you, me, we, us, they, them
He, she, her, him.

Everything is in a circle.

“Them” is in another,
“We” is in where we are in.
He is in his circle,
As she is.

How many circles are you in?
How far can you let them exist?
The farthest one, probably,
Is being human.

But “I” is closest to me—
And everyone has their own “I,”
Where no one else can come
But them.

Each “I” is born with one circle.
As it grows, others bend it—
Overlooked, shamed, denied.

A thousand more circles
Can be drawn around you.
But no one needs a circle
Once broken into ellipse.

My love for you is like
eight
but turned sideways
it’s endless

how a body can
contain so much
hurt &
not burst
or drip
or drown

that’s all

i am the damp air,
the smell of moss,
the wet bark,
the wingbeat of a bird,
the sun sprayed pine,
the silent snake among shrubs
the trunk wrestling with vines
i am not the obvious, sprawling forest,
but the space left inside it,
the narrow passage
that allows the way through
the silence that makes its song possible
i am the aerial view of clouds,
the accidental place found within
my heart is stone, washed endlessly
by pure streams
i am the breast of the forest,
the black honey trickling on ants
a hidden source of nourishment
i may not be visible,
nor celebrated, but i sustain life
quietly.