to you
breathe out.
i need a language with more
synonyms for love that do not strike my ears
like a slap or a secondhand
sigh,
but mold around me like a cast on fractured arms—
it is not that we needed to be put back together,
it is that we needed to learn what healing is,
how to hold someone close,
how to lift our hands again in surrender,
how our valleys show us to savor lavender in our lungs
when we were too weary to reach the summit.
i need language with no index
for fear because
i have all the lists of what paralyzes us,
and there is no manual
that can teach us how to take those first steps—
we begin again because we are chasing daylight,
and we carry
only antonyms of fear on our tongues,
shouts like the sun on our cheeks,
smiles we have hidden since we discovered
how a priceless courage could cost so little and so much—
waterfalls sweep us up
and drown us out.
i want a language of
words that do not exist except in the way
i feel their absence,
with no title or author,
but if we ever find this place between,
turn the first page where i dedicated in the old words
this new poetry to you.