tmbt: read me, write you

the magic of getting lost in our own gifts, they are the moments of being found inside of god. i fly with angels and am intoxicated by the high air and low pressure. i am released, but never forgotten, falling, a smattering of heart and bone atop leaf and branch, tumbling to the ground. you broke my fall lo those many years ago and i sing to the memory in my cells. yes, as soon as you think you caught it, is gone… is moving, spinning, picking, rolling, tumbling, tumbling under the skin. nothing left to do but move, spin, pick, roll, tumble, tumble, bump, slide, stand, still, stand… still. until it comes back home. until it comes back to roost. until it comes. then it will have arrived only in time to move, spin, pick… tumble… still.

last night I awoke from a dream of cactus poking my leg only to find that a wayward chard of glass had sliced a little gash in my knee. we dream of love all fuzzy and haloed only to waken to the true source of bliss. a simple smile. a book to be lost in. a melody’s progression. a taste sweet to hot to bitter and back again. your hand on my back. warm breath in the cold winter air. we remember as if a dream. the walking day was treacherous joy. walking now, i see and still want it all. hang up the halo and give me glued-on wings of cheap dime store feathers. set inside a box the lens of cover-shoots and bring me the crisp plate glass windows of my grandmother’s living room. see in, see out. forsythia and brown wagon-wheeled couch.

i wish i knew. i do. but i won’t ever say it. i hold a little bird inside my ribcage for you – for every you that catches my heart and eye. we are many of us, elves and faeries, and we are all the same. he is you is he and i am the consort breathing as best i can, fogging up the glass only for a break from reality. read. keep reading. read us all into the pages and write us all out of the strings. we can hinge on every casting of Helvetica and swim from every harmonic rung. we are your eyes to have, your hands to hold. we are the listening and the speaking. we are for you. we are all for you. and you are for us.

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~ by HeatherArtLife on October 23, 2008.

One Response to “tmbt: read me, write you”

  1. Hello,

    What a great idea. The most beautiful moment of each day. I would like to do that too but I am not sure that I can.

    This post is beautiful. I like the freedom of it.

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