The tide arrives
and i lay in bed–still, soft, blinking
every day is my birthday
and my soul spilling back into my body feels like an ocean licking that line of sand that’s always wet
300 million years old and counting
my breath an ancient current, dark and deep
a God spot on my chest and he can’t take his eyes off me
I think I’d like to hear what my voice sounds like this early in the morning
my bedroom voice making love to the sound of bird call and coffee makers
Mmmm…
God I’ve missed so much
Maybe I’ll write something now
Maybe I’ll reach for the great enigma of Tomas Transtromer with the two little dots over the O
Maybe I’ll just stay here awhile and let the tendons in my toes
remind me that I’m still alive
Sobriety Poet 