hummed with the drizzle
sung with the rain
roared with the downpour

I sit on the edge of the world
where the sea meets the galaxy
and the water
begins to float.

I no longer think
of where I am
or where I am going to be
or where I was.

I am here
where the sky
is on fire.

I want to write,
but I write what I feel

and I can't feel anymore.

My shadow has gone up the mountain.
Shall I accompany him?
The day is closing, I close my gate.
As the autumn winds rattle my fate.
When early next spring
the brown grass turns green,
Will my shadow return to me?

I am not beautiful,
and such as a rose covered- awash
in the scarlet moon,
I have become the stem in which
water is drunk from the Earth.

what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists