elasticity

I let it move up throwing my spine.. down through the bone and tap it closed in the breath. Those doors once smooth and locked appear to open like eyelids peeking up at me .. down and away. I catch my shirt hem on the latches … I snag my sleeves on the splinters that begin to raise up in this age. I procrastinate. I am full of fear. I have shoes that I have not worn .. shoes I will wait to wear.

A body that shapes to my imagination, a power shaping inside my confidence. I am thinking more of the kiss and less of the transaction. I am witnessing a youthful return to belief and it’s ok, it has been a time, some time .. is this healing or is it forgetting. Is that what healing is? forgetting? Does the body forget.. is the trauma gone? Can this day’s color change into tomorrow’s dream? will these holes fill in?

Is this what happens when you force your feet to flex and bend… forcing your calves to stretch to tearing as you ease into that squat? A return to the decade you lost in the wild … the rush of cool air mending the decades of chemical burn and destruction. Another mile and my mind wanders to a feeling of water covering me in my thoughts of skin. Closeness and skin.

An aged man is a child .. if he allow it. the child is prone to joy and hope… if he allow it. The healed child is but a ghost. Allow yourself to forget, allow the child to run. The trauma is forced out the sieve, forced through the mouth. And I can trace it along your hand. that easy tickle and giggles trigger connection.. in this mind.. those giggles trigger oneness

art credit: Rufino Tamayo (Mexican, b. 1899) Perro aullando a la Luna, 1944 Oil on canvas