I'm
still searching for a word
to describe what it's like
to discover the sky in my body
between two breaths,
what its like to swirl through
the blues in my diaphragm,
a word to explain precisely
how my eyeball shapes
the immeasurable curve
of the Milky Way,
and a silent stream of stars
pours all night down
the
hollows of my spine.
There is a hummingbird inside me
probing for soma.
What does she call the honeysuckle
twined around my ribs?
There is a murmuring bee
covered with the golden pollen
of pure consciousness.
What does he call the sunflower
springing from my lungs?
Maybe the word is simply Friend,
whispered, then unwhispered,
naming the one who touches
my chest like a feather
piercing a cloud,
like a dagger of honey
so finely honed
my
heart hardly knows
it has been severed
into "I" and "Thou."
Photo by Bahman Farzad
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