Day 24

You must train yourself to feel that love


what love?


that love,

the one that shivers, sometimes,

between the planks of your old chest


that says there now, you remember me,


the love that sang through the lullabies of your childhood-

simple songs

that sunk deep.


the love that that carried you through

certain sunny days in summer, in spring

that makes

fleet your feet and

wild your eyes.


if you look closely at old photographs,

you'll see it-

relics from the impossible safety,

before you shut your chest to its warm undulations


Just try it:

set aside those three sins of accumulation

(weariness, age, pain)

the weights which pale the blood of life

over time.


joy is the deepest sort of vulnerability

and is born of this practice:


sitting at a table

drinking tea


as the light comes through a cracked-open window,

cracking into that small space inside of you


where still hums the warm wildness,

where still breathes that sleeping beast




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