When Light Emerges

Inside my abdomen I hold all the tears no one claims,

these tetherless sadnesses that wander person to person

seeking a home.

So I rest by a window looking and not

at what God has sprung from seed and soil,

as empty garbage cans roll curb to house behind our neighbors.

When I move my neck a few degrees left, a few degrees sky,

I let out the light-held breath and lose these orphan tears.

Angels bounce,

flower to flower, whisperless.

For no thing do we strive, I think.

Atoms and smaller than atoms are not really,

but individuals alone in their orbit so close together

we are asked to believe in their transient synergy:

the bed from which we rise

floor on which we rely

and every other matrix dweller’s tool.

My mannerisms wish to be less me,

until, untethered, your voice

speaks inside.

My hands returned, thick in memories,

mirror yours.

Thank goodness,

a few pieces were not swept away.