we are always building

i miss the feeling of shaking

from something other than


anger, other than fear. i go

to my window and look for the


little flowers of hope. they are

every where; fragments amid


very long sentences: the swallow

tail, the barn swallow, the migrating


monarch. your energy goes where it’s

needed; there, it meets the energy it needs.


fire is friction.

imagine these are real:


a tiny wild child on your knee,

a tired dictator on the other, the


view of your own face from the

inside; they are all in the arena


with you: daring greatly.

we are always building: bridges,


portals, spirals, spaceships—

without knowing. all the


water droplets are being

summoned into one


stream, here at the

intersection of all things.