how it tightens the best web I can make for landing in.
To honor the construction of what is intricately made and yet untested.
For practice protecting the fragile and not-yet-realized:
children, the neglected; ancient wisdom and this still-beating heart.
Because when the wind blows a body sideways,
sometimes the best way to keep from falling over
is by moving with it; because watching a baby learning to walk,
not stopping until he hit the next resting place for his hands,
or fell down, reminded me of this.
Because sometimes the best I can offer anyone else in an age of senseless killing,
visible and invisible, is a living reminder that death doesn’t get the last word.
Because the opening notes of a familiar song are enough to remind me what music can do.
Because I refuse to fail for nothing. Because I want each heartbreak to count for something.
Because the decaying bits of once-flowering dreams
that died on the vine to fall into this soil
have left their bodies in it, the inanimate materials of their still-future lives,
and I want to bury these hands in their essence and feel
what’s still getting ready to be born.
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