I’ve love for things I can not see.

I’ve been destroyed by things I can.

If all in its existence might bloom

into beauty we can know,

what holds us back from knowing?

Not wondering?

Not admiring?

The blows of living a human life on this planet?

Being like a mole now, head and wide webbed paws

digging towards light,

I’m throwing off weight of earth

to find a way of nourishment, instinct

and abundance.

Who needs strong sight when every cell reverberates

with the songs of the universe?

I might place a pair of tap shoes on my feet

and make some noise

because the rhythm of having been born

quakes again inside me

and, this time, it might be building until

no one can mistake the sound.