Not a poem, but probably more beautiful. Francesca had her baby goat at 5:30am this morning.
if i sayi loveand it was not predictedby an algorithm,is it really loveor an act of resistance.i don’t want to be mapped,charted, measured. i want to say lostand taste that wordlike salt from another ocean.i want to loose myselfagain and again to thissix note feather songthat falls from the treewith late light that poolsamongst root…
if i say i love and it was not predicted by an algorithm, is it really love or an act of resistance. i don’t want to be mapped, charted, measured. i want to say lost and taste that word like salt from another ocean. i want to loose myself again and again to this six…
like petals to the sun we open to this living because we are here now because life asks the living to live because this morning roused us from our broken sleep, sang us jubilant as the stars faded and our bones hummed with new light dappled on the forest floor.