You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going

I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

Somebody who should have been born is gone.

Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.

Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside

Today life opened inside me like an egg.