takes you a little farther, deeper, less
by way of what it says, than how it shudders,
how it lends a body to the chaos,
a mirror to the air, blood to the hands
we lace in thought, as if to reconcile
a grief with what we cannot understand.
Some days a whisper shakes the heart’s cathedral.
Not because our prayer is large. More
because it feeds a silence that is larger.
Come closer, say the atoms of the echoes.
Be small. Pull a chair to the fire,
to the pulse’s will to proceed, to listen,
to close our eyes and tear the darkness open.