Looking for the right words
to say all the wrong things.
The heat is passing through
this city, making every breath
unbearable. It's an effort to
be.
Everything outside of me
is dry, cracked, broken.
My mind and heart
are still rejoicing
a monsoon
that seems too far
from where I live.
There is so much I want to say.
I see things:
The tremble of beauty,
the solid sorrows of time.
It is a skill to break
experience
down into language.
I have it, and every day
I am thankful for it.
I do not want it
to become my only
way of interaction
with the world.
Sometimes
I will not find the right words.
I don't want to be afraid of that.
I want to embrace it.
I want to calm, sometimes, the bubbling
in my belly, the thunder in my fingers.
Perhaps I must shrug off the structures
around which I organize my world.
The chaos terrifies me,
but I will learn to love it.
There's a new crisis
every day, a new and
wholly different way
of looking, of learning.
Falling
harder, faster, sooner
than I'd want to fall through
the various rabbit holes of
passing days.