when we’re rocketing skyward
soaring on thermals
or even on a first-time float
two inches above the earth
because love starts with
ae failure of gravity
it breaks our connection
to the weight of the world
cracks us open
frees the lightness of
generosity and goodness
leaves the shell behind
and propels those sweet
curves of ink
a whole other challenge
is to do it while stuck
in quicksand
or a fathomless pit
its loss leaves us in a place
torn between a monk’s prayer
and the moans
of a cockroach
with many sounds
that are not even words
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