Go Between


Walking across the grass to a tangle of branches
under a spot of grey to the edge carving field
from the woods dense with life we call wild,

the softest rain began falling as I remembered
two fawns prancing towards the safety of trees,
the monarch landing on your heart as we talked

yesterday and I cried just a little, enough to slip
into that liminal space where words are soft
and vulnerable is to roots what these sparrow

poems are to the breathing body. Who among us
decides the order of things: Love and trust, trust
and truth, truth and tongue? I know the invisible

beckoning to translate bare bark and skin smooth
and rain cleansing and the canopy protecting me
from the elemental feelings of being a small human

with a heart I thought was unknowable and now
see was preparing me, for everything and nothing,
by growing wings and gliding, bravely, between.

Image: The Rain Room exhibit at the MoMA (2013)


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