the incessant need to put one foot in front of the other
in an effort to pump blood into the organ
always giving, hesitant to receive.
the desire to unfurl sails tattered from carving paths in mighty waters,
time and again, to catch almost glimpses of colors
swirling on the opposite side of the sky.
the sound of a body stripping bare of clothing,
condemned no longer to consume its own love, daring instead
to rearrange its bones into another poem, a saga.
the relief of flying, buoyed by the arms of the wind,
no longer imaginary,
making my way home.