Please consider: that poetry is not limp or static or ever unliving or ever unloving. Please consider: we were born on earth and happen to live quite briefly with evolved language while carrying a primal song. As much as our body knows thirst as much as it knows water: relief or joy, we wonder what do we actually love more? Know this: poetry has always been a spiritual act: the star set before us: liberation: that my voice is part of my body as much as my body can be offered as an extension of yours. That even, here, in this small way: words on a page: we tell them: “You didn’t get us.” “We’re still here.” “We still love.” “We are free in our love.” Some, we find out, will live forever in words. The poem being a consolation to living: many want to be unremembered generations from now if that means now being safe in their bodies holding their song like a child bridging their heart toward the sun knowing peace arrives when the skies don’t try to extinguish the soul.
