but,

it hadn't occurred to me that I too, was the wind.

This ground is mine. All of it.

Every calloused rock cut glass speckled between the flagstone

unevenly set

damp from rain

drying out, stained and weathered, eroding pavement weeds that war with blossoms that push the concrete up and away

this sedimentary jungle is all mine.

All of it.

Every silent step the rattling of bones in the sewer drain take the strain of remembering in which life my bodies lie

Each breath ricochets through heart fibers tearing through softer centers I’ve wrung dry of debris

(I was waiting for the right time to commence the resurgence, of all this wonder in its sun-kissed candor, many times reclaimed. Needless to say, love is like water, but there are times the edges of my mouth remain dry from refusal to drink)

Trying to make sense of what I already attributed sound logic, my heart feels that this particular formulation needs revision

and presently, I am without the energetic components to take myself apart

For the 8th or 12th time. I’ve lost count

I’ve lost count of the moments I’ve caught myself holding my own head underwater; the weight of fear can make it impossible to swim to the surface not cognizant if the sheer magnificence of my composition the size of the heart, it’s magnitude and medicinal properties