would have never thought those were hammers in there. Dreaming of an ocean, the gentle pull toward the middle of nowhereness. Floating and crying ocean tears, filling the shapeless vessel, the nameless cove. We count the moments as they pass, kissing each as they become vacant memories. I love the sun when it heats me to my core, the seeds in my gut bursting with life, the stew simmering on the stovetop, the savior of fingertips. The delicate bounce and legato sigh, the orchid flowering in secret, the beauty hidden under the shed, the fear of success, of being seen, the life of shadows, of wounds healing victoriously, healing quietly, in secret, thick flesh, armor, lover, craver, savior, labor, rugged like lizard skin, always stretching upward toward the sky, believing in a God we can touch, a moon we can hold, one we can taste. And a smile is worth so much to me, it fills the crevices of my tired and calloused hearth. I’m swimming and waving my limbs in trepid joy, unsure of myself, about to burst with uncertainty since all pure things are continually discovering themselves, seeing themselves for the very first time, never sure what will be revealed around each corner. I’m the child inside my iris. I am grateful for this mystery. I live in a garden. I live with my tears. I am dissolving into the soil. The smiling sky. The swell of the ocean. A dream. The smell of rain. A belief.
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