Love this like weather
that unmasks a gentle sky.
Do not name this trembling.
or hush what aches to bends her spine.
A need for collapse
can be a call to kneeling
in disguise.
What sways this cathedral of air
ringing bells at impossible altitude,
clouding windows with myths
of ascent, her scent lingers, low––
an invitation: after such dizzy heights,
what longing there is to kiss the earth,
to press mouth against cooled ash,
admit devotion.
What impossibility, to confess
this softness —this animal
obedience to soil, its churn.
How bones remember the
murmurs of earth.
Here, too, see how body mistakes
obliteration for grace, a silence
that bows but never
calls it prayer.
