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February 22, 2008
We build our houses out of earth
everything is a perfect whole
so flawed without effort.
The seas quake,
little lullabies.
Your cheeks,
close to mine.
"Dear, close your eyes"
and I already have.
I've set sail blind,
back to your arms,
fast in your arms,
moving, changing
wrapped in your arms.
So fully plunging!
Head first, feet far, far
behind
into this sacred place,
imperfect world,
sometimes (always)
changing and
staying
perfectly
as one
perfect
whole.
Collapse.
Feet hitting
Rock.
Hard Feeling.
Hard Air.
Pavement.
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