When I was facing away
my back tingled like it was trying to see
Yielding to space implies an invitation
Like dough rising, the edges of my body were
A blend of space and skin
Yielding is not an abdication
If I wasn't hungry for attention
Looking away wouldn't be so painful
II.
Lines of force
A map drawn by connective tissue
The fabric of the body
III.
How we are running when we aren't
Wearing boots when we are not
Fighting when we aren't
Would I know myself without them?
IV.
Particularity becomes abstraction
The mouth is a space
Filled with appetites and qualities
of the voice
Words are boundaries, anchors
Words carry histories
That's why they work.
V.
A handrail over time accrues touches
Like a pearl has layers
What if we thought of talking as touching
How does one reach with words
How can I stand my own (ground, matrix of ideas)
How much connection can we take
And yet
Not talking is still saying something
Listening someone into being.
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