there is a dying to The Day

that confuses me

a belief to crush? or

always some misery to suffocate with

love or light or things gently organic

or should i be saving

what looks like its dying

a possibility, a promise, vowed,

a brush with tragedy that i

pick up with fierce devotion

and transform into it’s fully longed for magnificence

to be the heroine of a simple life

i collect music

for the open window

that i pray in every way

we will slip through

into

the kitchen of yellow happy order of moments

rythmic

incandescent

the songs

stay

tucked

in things

i must stand on

— tip toes, stools,

and mountains —

to reach