i think i missed you

we wake

to create;


we carry some-

thing from the


night: thick

on us, in us—


a thousand stories deep

as the crow flies.


we were meant

to meet there,


you and i—



i think i

missed you.


i think we are

living the before.




this is my body,

broken for you,


like in the



we are here

to make some-


thing new:

but we know


it has all been done

under the heavy static


of sun. we traverse the

taverns, ear to the ground


for a philistine,

a dervish,


something royal

to stir us up.


we become the swine

digging in the pearls;


it is our



we sit on the dock

and wait; we believe


something is on its

way—a ship, a revolution,


a stay; a drunken glacier

swaying toward us with glee:


to allay our fears, our need,

our repeat existence.


every one is listening


wrap your self in

your own narrative,

in your own sweet & terrible

story that only you can

weave. others will try

to tell it for you:

you must shut them

up with your own

glory. do not be afraid

of the way you shimmer

& shine when you climb

to the top of that finite hill.

you worked so hard to

get up & out of the valley.

you were the only one there

to see the true darkness;

the hurt;

the despair.

others tried to care

but could not enter.

when you came out

you were a new being,



at times you still feel like a fraud,

like an imposter in this world,

like you are trying to win a

race you have already won.

the real frauds are the ones

trying to take your voice.

stand tall on the sun-soaked

cliff and tell your story—all

of it—even if no one is



every one is listening.

Art by Olivia Santiago

First line and some concepts shared by Barbara McNamee Moody