Life as Improv

The passage ending in a lowering ceiling closing in,

my view of dim, withering, repeating of days,

somehow was only respite

much needed in the overwhelm of noise,

in hindsight

tasty silence,

when surprise!

came new words

or words strung together in different ways

than seems possible

a sky

with the power to melt rock

–

which I can not replicate here in my simple ways

–

but the words of others who found me

took on the form of keys to a door

of not-alone-in-this

Here it is, the power-

the words for

what is felt yet unnamed

which can create

connecting streams

that until now, for me, a single, confused droplet,

to the ocean unseen.

Thank you poets

but also too painters, body dancers, cooks (in your own form of words)

who jumped into my sternum tightness, my adam’s apple blockage,

my longing stuck,

and released me

and started blood to flow again.

I’ve curled up here,

allowing a wordless doom

to creep too close,

but birth it comes again, a gift.

Here I am, alone/backed by an army

of deep breathers

with courage to call out truth-

is ugly in its composting phases-

unashamed for my muddy footprints

for carcasses left

in the wake of this empty

fragrance

with my name

moving

on

Tags: identity, Impermanence, Poetry