May 7, 2020

(Not) Talking Sense

Let's talk. No, actually, I take that back.
Let's not. Let's walk. Let's listen. Let's
savor. Let's sit and rock. Roundabout.
In and out. To and fro. Forth and back.

Again.

Stretch. Lean. Breathe. Pump.

See. How fast the sun hurls up and down
the sky, a mirage, entire. It is we who are
flung, hurled through space at speeds
we do not comprehend, and spinning.

Too.

Stretch. Lean. Breathe. Pump.

Hear. How clear the evening pulses,
the hum, the call, the song cresting,
falling, receding, gathering, rising –
an ocean of sound, and yearning.
    
More.

Stretch. Lean. Breathe. Pump.

Smell. How crisp is the lavendar's
welcome to those who aid its flourishing,
who taste its life waters and brighten
the palates of the living, and dying.

Also.

Stretch. Lean. Breathe. Pump.

Feel. How strong your heart beats, slows
on notice, a shy child hiding in skirts of
bone, but wishing to please, and to be
doted upon, loving, and longing.

As well.

Stretch. Lean. Breathe. Pump.