I told her your stories make my heart ache. Mercy n o mercy, she keeps them coming. If it’s aching, it’s alive, she answers. Ache - to have a continuous dull pain, often used in combination: an aching heart, a sad ballad, someone left behind. I didn’t want to be alive like that: I'm favoring breathing space, being space, the fortitude of solitude, stepping out of combination. Like the aspen, rootlets knitted to kin underground boasting to sun and moon: H ere I Am! and she insists there is no alone, there is no away! It’s all here, all together: the rivers that artery, the land the quanta pixelating space. And now my ache turns to growing pains - her stories, the elixir. I would have said that too, she spouts, but you wouldn’t have listened. Reciprocity lines our combination, a sacred esteem of gates and fences, sovereignty understood, our paradox: lives free and bound. Sometimes I wish she would be a silent lioness withi
Kinetic Poetry - Subject to change without warning.