I think somewhere in this, I'm going to figure out, you know .. how it's done & through all the many ways it takes. lessons become teachers because people forget how to treat truth.
but everything is community in my mind. nothing happens without something else; I never understood the need to fight that. i digest in my head but what would I do without my right hand ? it's me and every other part of my body. I'm never alone. lonely is a lie we tell ourselves. there are always birds. always books. I meet a lot of people when I read & I never explain a thing. this reminds me of my love for dogs. to provide without need. a beautiful, beautiful thing. but words get abused like substance & when something is felt, we get confused, trying to explain it, trying to feed it. instead of just feeling it.

in a sense -
"        I tried;        "
still, I couldn't receive
I'd penned :
      bereaved and
believed
                 to mean
       the same
                 thing.

I wanted to see the sunset
so I watched it over my book

& sometimes I wish I'd met you out

I'm digging my feet as deep into the sand as my ankles will allow
i can wear the day like my shoes. the earth as my boots

my gift
I stood present with you
i was
wet paint
spilling herself in a
gallery
when the artist had gone
so I
find myself
touching the knife

except

you let me love your dogs

blown proportions
using bodies as poetry
to run from & out of verbs

upon request you just said
mine and
what a delicate thing
to still believe
in something