Ache

I ache to wallow in wonder,
in slow ecstasy,
to devote my flesh
to all uncatalogued bliss.

Quiet bliss, and raw bliss,
raging bliss and the last bliss
like old grace as if this grass
were a feeling I’ve been feeling,
greenly in the lush darkness
and I, a blue slit in our is,
humming the ʾawliyāʾ chorus:

this is how you got here.

And still I beg the world:
never quench me.

Let me know each day
the flowing freedom of water
without forgetting thirst,
so I can say
of my pierced skin,

“See? This is where the light
broke in, dappled and dancing.
Look! This is the colour
of our first sunset.”

TRACE

Translation

Medicine for the People‘s

Love letters