vulner — able
picking up the pieces
in my dreams
I was a bird
flying through a storm of ash
over a city laid bare with its longing
for ‘normal’
(a bear in a bush
roaring with the tide)
the hours are sure to undress you.
it starts out calm-
a hush of whisper over a glassy sea.
but days don’t stop going.
even when the peace
stops.
and the able-ness of our ability
withers away.
there’s a shame to the peace of this cage.
our hunger is still of a softened kind.
(you can never be prepared)
the soft discomfort in our bellies
soothed still with the luxury of our have-ness.
stress swims shame-faced in this river of wine.
our beds turns to caves of deep dark surrender.
but there is a sweet solid roof over our heads.
how long can you look to the sky
if the stars shine with the reminder
of all the places you want to touch and smell
(sand and fresh muffins and…
