orpheus

i.

always, the wind comes;
    circling in from somewhere
I've never been.
    it smells
of people, of freedom,
    of life in full.
blooms struggle to catch
    the breath,
to billow like dreams and
    fly;

and the wind exits
    and we are alone.



ii.

your skin has a million creases.
    faults collect in pores and seep
into the marrow of your bones;
    yet you are spineless and
exoskeletons allow beauty to permeate but
    skin-deep.

you have not the joints with which to
    bow to the earth and sky and
all in-between;
    you have only accessories,
different types of teardrops.
    we sing with the wind and
though you never hear us,
    you don't let us go.



i.

if you love something,
    open your hands and
let it slip from your palms and
    rise.
let it be beautiful.

    if it loves you,
it will flutter back and
    stay forever, content to beat
in a solitary ribcage and
    curl against a heart.

if you squint against the sun and
    see no one looking back from a
lonely horizon,
    it was never meant to be.



ii.

sometimes we can make
    a leap, a fall;
but we always look back and
    repeat orpheus' failing,
but you do not bend to
    mythology. eurydice left and
orpheus died,
    but you stand and stand and
will always stand and
    we are left to tumble,
but we always look back.