dawnmade
i am not of meat
nor name.
through dawn
i frostburst
(that heartstrike from a dream
into blank space
a rush into the unknown
before the foot even thinks to move)
in my pocket
collected: flickers, gestures,
the half-born shapes of becoming
and at the bottom,
a forgotten sugarflake,
shaped like almost-memory
to unbody —
to fly so light
bones melt into space
and you become the air
that holds someone else’s wings
to softline —
to become a tender, see-through edge
between the fragile
and what breaks
while holding the light inside
to breathreach —
to approach the world
with a full inhale,
and no need for translation
to cryrise —
to weep with inner rivers
that rise as mist
into the air we share
to chordhold —
to be the silent harmony
beneath someone else’s song
unheard
but holding everything in place
to hearthsee —
to look so deeply
your gaze becomes a palm
warming the face of what is
to hushscream —
to be a scream
that became breath
and entered silence
as both king and servant
and when this day grows tired
of its own light,
before tomorrow begins to dawn,
i will selfglint
(reflect in the emptiness)
and skykin
(return to where
the stars
are needles of light
inside our own eyes)
I don’t plan to “matter” yesterday
stitched from firm decisions
and the noise of their collapse
tonight
i will dremerge
softly,
like bread
unsure if it’s fully baked
or still just dough
dreaming of the oven
i’ll rise
to teacup myself,
wrap in warmth,
and look at the world
the way a cat does
through a curtain of rain:
with so much gentleness
it almost feels like disdain
but is really
the purest form of attention.
and I’ll spend time
by time-loudstaring
(standing in front of the wind
like someone who forgot
what doing was,
just a breathing comma
in a word that burns)
if the moment betrays me,
i’ll crumb it
a little laughter,
a little forgetting,
pressed flat
into a toaster of carelessness
until it browns on both sides.
then
i will inlost myself a bit
on purpose,
between the hips of waiting
just to find a place
i never mapped,
but my bones call home.
if someone asks what i’m doing,
i’ll say:
“i’ve ingobleted the moment.”
(respect it
this is a ceremony
that doesn’t pour twice)
maybe
i’ll even hugpress someone
like a child who holds too tightly
not knowing
how much is “allowed”
because the strength of a hug
is measured
by how long it takes
to leave it.
and when everything wilts
into bed
without asking,
i’ll unadult myself
for the time that doesn’t count
peel off the skin of responsibility,
play campsites on the carpet,
believing my invisible friends
still need me
and if i fall asleep
let it be by accident
let reality celebrate
without me
for a moment
and let it know:
i’ll come back
with soon,
just to enphrase myself
for a moment
in the sentence
that forgot me as a word
and revealed
i was a verb
DICTIONARY OF UNUSABLE BUT NECESSARY VERBS
to indrip — to quietly enter a moment, like a drop disappearing into water without a trace
to startune — to shift slightly toward light, slightly toward nothing, and pause in a place of balance
to presence — to be actively here, like trembling air in the room, despite everything
to worlden — to attempt to be stillness when existence itself resists your being
to tommorowin — to sense your future from within, like holding your breath before the next step
to frostburst — to feel the sudden heart-surge toward the unknown, like frost cracking under first sunlight
to unbody — to fly so lightly your bones dissolve into distance, and distance into wings
to softline — to become a soft, transparent boundary between what is fragile and what would break it
to breathreach — to meet the world with a full inhale, an exchange of breath where no words are needed
to cryrise — to cry with inner rivers that evaporate into the air we share
to chordhold — to be the unheard harmony in someone else’s day, the silent chord everything rests on
to hearthsee — to look so deeply your gaze becomes a touch, and the touch becomes understanding
to hushscream — a scream that has become breath, entering silence as both its master and its servant
to selfglint — to glimpse your reflection in the emptiness and collapse with relief
to skykin — to return to the stars, to become a speck of light in someone’s gaze
to dremerge — to softly dissolve into drowsing, just now becoming a shape again
to teacup — to settle into the cup of warmth, into a moment with no demands
to time-loudstare — to stand in the wind with symbolic aimlessness, like a question without a question mark
to crumb — to break a problem into tiny, harmless pieces with laughter and forgetting
to inlost — to go off-course on purpose, to find yourself on a map you never had
to ingoblet — to live through the goblet of a moment, and choke gently on the fullness of now
to hugpress — to hug with the full strength of innocence, not of grip, but of holding
to unadult — to shed the armor of seriousness and become again a cleansed space for play
to enphrase — to enter yourself like a sentence that continues, and remain forever between two signs
to ghostthaw — to feel the sudden warmth of a memory in a room that is otherwise cold
to wordwait — to hold a thought in your mouth like a stone, waiting for it to turn into a seed
to echosink — to listen to the silence after a conversation until you find the part of yourself that didn’t speak
life is a verb
the kind you won’t find in a dictionary,
but it happens to you
and often, what matters most
is the thing you don’t know how to name
you know you were
and that you happened
and, thank god,
that you still
are