From inside this locked body,
it can fly, holding all of me
in broadness—weightless—
my carrier of words.
Hear it seeping under windows,
it lifts hair from shoulders.
it is my own.
I am only transparencies
of thought in motion.
Longing resides here and
I am breakthrough.
I blow ochre leaves and
cradle them to earth—
storing their movement
inside a space with no doors.
This soul is the
lockbox of myself—
the testimony of my color.
It is how you know me;
Through quiet breezes,
Raging Storms.


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