Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Can it be, when faced with walls
of thick fog rising and falling,
sliding into each other and all around
us, that we rise with them, billowing?
That we slide underneath, equally
uncontainable and swirling?
Can we use our pace — each frenetic
and rushing, yet slowly expanding
as one — as our power, eke through
cracks to widen, expose, and glow,
beckoning? Can we plume like smoke?
Hiss and slip, reach through pinholes
and pour, forever slipping over each other
to fill new expanses, do we dare?

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love notes
a ritual to start the work week