Last night we sang poetry in my dreams,
really though, it was beautiful, breathing,
and there was a child I’d never seen before,
a strange woman who laid in the river
and picked flowers for her funeral, shaved her head.
And it’s amazing that on the grayest day with nothing
like certainty hovering around your sleepy head
that you can open your eyes everything can settle right
in that heavy happy chest, hollow places humming.
It’s amazing that everything can be just right,
and not even touch perfection.
It’s amazing that with all the questions in the world,
body wide open, full of holes,
permeable as lace,
you can be okay.
Listen to this:
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