Beyond the shadow you settle for,
there is a miracle illuminated.
Brutally elegant,
nestled in communal catastrophe.
A dark star
of rapt silence and intimacy.
The kind that can quiet a room.

Every word is an edge.
Textures, traits, shapes,
gestures left smoldering in the air.
An incandescent slice of fat
hanging on a glint of enamel
after breaking up a fight
between stray dogs.

I don’t miss it.
it lives on my nightstand
with the other pieces
I’ll never be ready to let go.
After all, very little
can mean a lot
to the right people.

It’s not superstition if it works.
Maybe I’ll never understand.
Maybe I don’t need to.
Because right now you’re looking up at me
like you’re remembering who I am.

For the tirelessly articulate
a loss for words
is the greatest freedom of all.