I love that you do not shy away from your humanity,
divinity,
possibility,
uncertainty.
I love that you move into them, inhabit them, crawl inside them and open up your soul before them, allow yourself to become what they are in full tragic erotic chaotic bloom.
It takes my breath away to know you let them fill you, emerge from you, surround you,
have you,
have you,
have you.
And in that holy space, in the infinite spread of that rarely glimpsed suspension, you are as still as you are in motion. You become the flesh and blood of every creature ever born into this madness.
You allow their wisdom to touch you everywhere.
When I see you, I feel all of this written across the sky inside my heavenly earthen body.
Because I know in the secret chambers of my wild heart that which you know in yours:
that if it is not tearing at the bones, it is not poetry.
.
.
Allison Marie Conway 