Even behind what’s in
            tears            
          
            or a thin threaded gasp
            ***** high above in the sky,
            suspenseful, waiting,
            for lightning or clearing
                                  
            behind
            the heavy fast rolling
            breathing of love, rushing through
            its mountains, ascending

            behind its ecstatic release

            as behind running, and
            the score of a goal, the
            sweet flush of a compliment,
            even a single
            laugh, a single warm
            touch
            of another’s creation, of life,
            a soaking flower sprung
            up from your thirsty desert of a
            skin

is dopamine, and
            a cycle of reward, seeking
            more reward, seeking more
            reward.

But behind that
            
            tell me of another.
    
Living towards resurrection.
    
One sinking in to feel the all out
            which forms the one
            in which one sinks      
            back into feeling
            all in one.

The being you (as you, you must)
            so as to feel
            also what's not. Which

is also you.

The being not
            that which you hope
            so that you may
            forever hope.

And so you'll be, and so you are,
            and so have lost.

Will find again.

Have already.