what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists

these rivers
are my blood
rhythmically pulsing
with the heartbeat
of winter’s inertia
and summer’s energy
an eternal throbbing

these mountains
are my body
growing but decaying
covered with life
but filled with death
for in the circle of nature
all things must eat

these winds
are my breath
created but creating
building and eroding
uncovering and burying
an inhaled exhalation
reverberation

these skies
are my mind
blowing and still
overcast and clear
the keeper of the stars
the ocean of the sun
the day-dreamer’s canvas

this place is in me
and i am in this place
and in this place
i am born again
and together
we are one again
tat tvam asi

And over time,
My pen stopped bleeding
But my heart didn't

It's the days when you don’t cry,
But you don’t smile either.

It’s the days when you’re quieter than usual,
And people notice.

It’s the days when you aren’t quite thinking about anything.

But if someone asked you what was wrong,
You wouldn’t know where to start.