"Some say calamity
and some catastrophe
is beauty."
Some think rolling
hills, hay, joints–
madness in the head,
in bed, on paper and canvas–
soothes our souls
but our soles wander
and we're trainers
following the egos
of Hollywood and Penguin,
Netflix and Dover.
I say your beauty,
encompassing calamity
and catastrophe,
and never letting less
beget sad days,
sends me out,
spurs me to transact,
create, build, fail,
love.
I think running
alongside your stride,
fingers down your back,
scripts about our language,
reigns me in,
slows my transience,
comforts me to breathe,
decompress, heal,
care.
We, the ebb of calamity,
the flow of catastrophe,
are bound.