he said
they might not even be there
any longer. already ghosts
deceiving our eyes.
except
there is no deception,
i thought,
when everything is true
only in another time. but
who's to say it isn't now?
standing
on the edge
of everything
tongues polish
these memories
in the telling
of stories
uncensored
until we cant
be peeled apart.
there are moments
the bright white centre
can be felt,
but touched not,
and lightning surges
from bodies like roots
extending.
connecting. and we see.
with more than eyes
i can see. and sing
as we hold
each other together.
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