Pay Attention

Pay attention to the river
of pearls inside your breath.
Let it carry you down
to the sea of silence,
this chaos of bells.
What does it matter
whether you're wave
or particle?
Darkness will heal you,
but not until your
luminous gashes melt
the blade that made them.
Is this not the moon's secret,
to ferment the night
and reflect the invisible?
Before they close,
wounds glisten and weep.
What could you not discover
if you let them be your eyes?


Photo of a wounded flower taken by my daughter Abby,
and used as the cover of my first book.