Even By Just Trying
My drool crusted around the edges. The collapse. The quiet in the gape.
I trust the timing of my life. What is mine will find me. There is abundance in this world. There is enough. Mantras repeated against syncopated breath.
Bhanu Kapil wrote that she was learning to leave the love bed and go upstairs and write. I can set up the writing room and still spend an hour scrolling TikTok in another, evasion the real act. The hazy lavender of the scroll, the slick and stick of screen and fingertip oil.
