I sought refuge. I thought: round and clay. Or a particular arc, trunk to branch, green and shady? Maybe the source of jasmine, mother, tequila? Glass elevator, descending wonder, over and above as a fountain blesses the lobby? And a door, everywhere, threshold easily revolving between longing and the boulders of this world. Definitely barefoot, knowledge arises from dirt: how to travel home, how wind bears the future fruit. But then, the trees began burning; the drowned city gasping; and refuge lifted off the runway, sisters and brothers clinging to its metal wings. At last, I stand from the endlessly scrolling thumb of my mind, will the volume, up, up dance surrender down, until it is obvious: my own flesh is the light I seek my enemy, golden Now my head bows, bone by bone, spine pours into Your deep lap of stars where shining is the way. I see: the dust of origin is my own salt crystalline, sparkling and soaks. Your velvet milky night takes it all, my Beloved. Now I know refuge: everything dying, every day. The slow path the tear wets down my cheek. I wish I could remember the name of the song that was playing when I became free, but it wouldn’t be a prescription anyway. Every rhythm beats the heart in its own time, only once, and so I have to take another breath.
