A Work In Progress

TASTE
from Atlas: Year Two (Senses) by Sleeping at Last

I am alive. I am awake.
I am aware of what light tastes like.
The curtains drawn, the table set;
I want to be. I want to be at my best.

It’s bittersweet, it’s poetry.
A careful pruning of my dead leaves.
It’s holy ground, a treasure chest.
I’m on my knees and only scratch the surface.

Like fists unraveling,
like glass unshattering.
We’re breaking all the rules,
we’re breaking bread again.
We’re swallowing light
’til we’re fixed from the inside.

Out of the woods, out of the dark,
i’m well aware of the shadows in my heart.
I want to feel tectonic shifts.
I want to be. i want to be astonished.
I want to be astonished.
So i propose a toast:

to fists unraveling,
to glass unshattering,
to breaking all the rules,
to breaking bread again.

We’re swallowing light,
we’re swallowing our pride.
We’re raising our glass
’til we’re fixed from the inside.

We’re nothing less than a work in progress,
sacred text on post it notes.
We only speak of a world in pieces,
let’s make a map of what matters most,
Where every fracture is a running river
leading us back to our golden coasts.

Here’s to showing up.