(it has got to be one of the most fascinating times in history to be a poet.)

“Guns shoot stars into the/sky, the storm of constellations night after night, the infinite/night rages on.” -Afgha Shahid Ali, The Country Without a Post Office:The Blessed Word: A Prologue

There’s a song every year when birds pass. Slowly dream dixie; memories
lead breezy dancers down to amiable homelands. Damn, wish I could fly.

Some people walk with songs
in their hips: shifty sways
and rolling pulse-beats.

There are visions and tunes authors create
: scenes of harmonic intervals. Damn, wish I sang with every sunrise.

It’s incredible when moments of wisdom – true breathing rhythm/
blossom in a dark room.

The sky is limitless, transforming
dark & light
to everything. Damn, I’ll never shine quite like that.