I sit with Katmandu all shook up - 7.9 with paisley troposphere caressing blue planet. I sit with red scarves on quiet women, with broken bodies confused about roads to healing. I sit with secret holders, how each one wonders, am I safe, am I stuck? I sit with ample water to take long hot showers in a safe place, my own safe place. I know of children who carry water, uphill for evening meals, dodging bullets, ducking shrapnel. I sit with questions that poke the soles of my feet, when I walk too fast they pop. I sit with sorrow, and like woodpecker, sometimes I just bang away at things. I sit with struggle and sing a weedy song, I want my voice to be rain on tin. I sit like puddle dreaming ocean, like ocean dreaming sky.
Kinetic Poetry - Subject to change without warning.