Saving Ourselves

My heart is holding the letters
in the landscape of terrace and balcony.
I am tired of being trapped again under water
in a universe of slow motion. How fast
does a world spin? And what falls from above
besides leaves and the diary of sky?
Do you remember when love became a beast
with venom, when it raged like wildfire unfenced?
A god descended to unseed every spiral of a sunflower,
sealed the world until it was sunless.
Years of this. Then next to the weeds
a cocoon, enough to start the fragile body
again, to weave a tapestry from dead
trees and shells, to open the dictionary
of images stored behind eyelids.
We can never stop loving
a world that rescues us again and again—
those pinpricks of light we connect
and name ourselves.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Koan
Juice Ex Machina