Like the way a globe does not do the world justice
so too does a mapping of bodies not do justice to the unseen details of that softscape
there starts, at the neck, another’s hand, and their breath
and at the chest, a dormant volcano awaiting a shift
from in the stomach a set of fireworks, a light show of luminescence only seen
(like the moon)
when the rest of the world is on fire
and all the kindling
the match
the delicate, deliberate beginning
is in my hand again
where water is like a signaling mirror used from a forest for rescue
and a pulse like a beacon
but the heat is the healing
which finally brings the flood
a unique balance of elemental energy
a place much more than it seems
the body, the map, this dream.
In a pink sky morning
there is calm
breeze
patient opportunity
and as life warms up
wings trembling
our courage
hope and wholeness
breaks with day
Depth and darkness
founders of freedom
from sense-based interactions
without the attachments of form in the absence of light and definition our existence
rests / with the rest
of the unknown
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