& how many times we have peeled each other off the floor tear-streaked & limp in the limbs. Hypervigilance eats me, a formless melisma of griefs. These are the days of ambivalence toward bearing empathic inundation. Curating our souls an untenable & necessary task of constellatory wiring, upending the fictions of our solidity through every way I feel you & feel you feeling me—how will we bear the music of it? Do not let the grid of your feed fool you, the archive there is incomplete. The family heart wails in me before catastrophe arrives. I was less explicit before but let me say it. We are seasons of clairvoyances in motion. Seeing our untimely deaths before they happen, in a way, but can stop nothing of it. The dead warn me to turn left when I thought right, & there at the so-called benevolent hand, swerves the distracted wheel. Life flashing in the eyes, but still life. I always & everywhere feel alien, save for in the arms of beloveds. Never was human enough. 

& child me, staring at Alnilam like I’d been left behind. Forest in my hungry hours of face to the damp & mushroomed earth asks, who sent you, so ravenous & liquid at the skin? Today, lavender, kava root, rhodiola in my veins. A tenderness of animal in me burrowing in the dark. But it is you who meet me under moon. You, also ravenous & liquid, formless inundation finding your way. You afraid of lightning, you with a funeral in your brain. Bedfellows in the illness that comes from submitting to annihilations, for their better & worse.  & you & you & you. Destroyed by the horrors small & large as much as by the immense & unbearable wonder. You who believe in miracles not as the hallowed acts of the anointed but the reaching moving, weaving together of our speculations, & oh the things that make us dig in deep & at times, a little carelessly