Digging
The places that I've found to build my house in:
The unshakeable space between the halt in your breathing
and its starting again.
The point in your teeth when you dig the fresh current
of my skin. The salmon spawning color in your gums.
The curve in the body that also bends and layers
down. The painter's crevice in a playful shadow.
Each blood vessel that carries you past blushing
points and into something dense and bright.
The lucidity out on the edge of your eyes, that powerful
ledge that holds up understanding.
Each line and grasp of your hand. The bones underneath
of glorious, bleached bedrock.
I will build.
I have a loving, digging, moving shovel.
No comments:
Post a Comment