In some other cosmic shooting of our words and tangible meshing of our tongues.
From the moment I looked in his direction, I knew he was the sun.
I thought I was listening
or maybe the angels didn’t speak loud enough
or my ridges were
far too rough.
I’m home beneath the woven galaxies
that circle my spirit and speak
In all that’s been torn down
and dissolved to ash…
I rise. Because breaking the silence breaks the cycle.