Woke afraid to open to this morning – mourning a feeling of normal that has never even darkened my door – eyes closed, scanning the body for a sign, a green light – but there’s nothing to reach for in this milky morning light – no future to paint into a frame – for years of days I’ve been running with the wolves, the gypsies, time’s ill-begotten children who say no more to the pressures of future past – but as I breathe life into my lungs and hold my hand to my beating heart, I cannot will the other hand to kill my dreams, and have berated myself for it – but with the little space this little space has slipped into the in between, I can see now that I need them; we need a narrative of self in order to step into a bigger story – and dreams are wings to be yoked to my leaden present light – this present desire that runs rampant, ravishing the ramparts of my castle, raging a battle from birdsong to blackest night – certain doors are closed – avenues blocked – roads reticent and dusty – so just give me a reason to open my eyes – I need to climb out the window of this skin into something other than my trifling agony – your skin – soft warm flesh eyelash flutter wet tongue – worlds behind your eyes that I wouldn’t wish to intrude upon – worlds between our eyes that are calling on our courage – I wonder how your eyes see me but that’s an endless spiral – better ask, what is it that you desire – what future can we hook our hopes upon – who is it that you hope to be – then anchor that in your belly, now, let it spill into the slipstream of your touch and your language – let your present give way to what you are becoming – be the girl you love, take flight.