We Live in Bodies

When I send the air and salt
from the inner journey to my true self
on postcards to the universe

I will first unravel the blue salvages
of my name and return to the center of the circle
where I was nothing.

With my black pen
I will write to her
of the constant longing for light
and the eclipses that bent joy to the earth
in conversations with starlight
on my skin.

Of romance
I will take the time
in the small spaces
to be clear
that living in abundant kindness
is what I wanted—
like poems that can’t help
but capture beauty in one word
placed precisely next to others
in a line of love.

And what of these mortal bodies can I offer
but that they are meant to hold the spirit
like a basket of grace to be shared
with God on the faces
and in the arms of other travelers
looking to find their way home.

This is
after all
where we must live
and patience will not turn us
into the darkness or cold.