Rubbing our fists in our eyes
Until we see nebulas and galaxies
Our raptures
They are either all air or all fire
That certain madness we contain
Which rightly dominates
Our poetic brains
Shoving our thoughts back down
Our throats
Which always seem to surface
On paper later
Wandering off the edge of the world
Our hearts
They burn and destroy
Our words
Run down from the tops of our heads
And out from our thunderous and beating hearts
Often times
Our shadows
Seem more real than our distant bodies

And so again,
With these words
A tiny place we call sanctuary
This moment...
Like some great redemption