May 05th, 2015

thank you, sincerely, with flowers and a single cup of fresh water with
swimming holes, dry wings and feathers thank you for asking how I am doing
thank you I am well having not combusted spontaneously (though keeping
a lighter in my breast pocket for fireworks on exit) yes I am well having

not stepped off my pointed gables into outer space (the stars are sweeter
than purple cherries but they must wait until I am done with this
kissing) but I tell you, the truth is shocking as a cancelled funeral--that I am
beginning to believe this earth chose me

for itself and by proof I mean has seduced me with gravity delicious as a
perfect navel in a perfect belly (all desire sees is perfection) and draws my
eyes down this lover's grassy bed again down again it's worth repeating as
any love lived is worth repeating. so again I remember how I've stopped

listening to those who taught me that I grew up brokenlegged and instead
I recall how I was carried forth on the Boat of Small Things: for instance
my grandfather's devil laugh my grandmother's stoic ferocity. he was my
Charlie Chaplin. she my Bear. I could go on. so many instances, so many tiny

teacups of tenderness each so small that mice could partake but
so many I am buoyant on their ocean, singing like a bell buoy. how being
remembered is as if etched deeper into the Book of All Things
Illuminated, opened again and again by your simple asking.