and now I write

I have poured myself a cup of water
paced brick floors for perhaps fifteen minutes
and opened a vent for air

I know it will take this flow
grounding and cooling
to succeed

Most of the blinds I have closed
for the sun would add too much heat
to the burning already in my belly

I have stuck needles in my arm
tiny ones to begin to reestablish
function in my damaged hand

I have checked in with the ravens
committed to my breath
and at last sat down

I give myself permission
to say and be
too much

to come up short on meaning
get sidetracked by imagined glimpses
and lose all nuance of effective translation


And now I write