in the thick of the livingI forget to say it, forget to tell you everything that made me
light up or shut off or grieve or celebrate or want to throw the last
log on a dying fire or drop out of sight or shriek the words completely
out of my skin or crawl under the lowest branch and sleep or blast
into space or build a mountain from scratch or swing, sloth-like, between
branches or fling myself into the open sea. The million incremental changes
in a day, in a week, the month billowing with epic transformations unseen
except by a singular, naked eye that bears down with each breath. It knows
like no other. That filmy second we were lost or luminous or brave.
We will carry certain secrets to our grave.