L

I’m not convinced of

resurrection, even

one where scars

remain – but dancing is

my favorite prayer,

not to quell

the ghosts or

close the wounds,

but to take

the risk of

not-yet-dead

(the risk of life

in finite form).

here we find

liberation in

bodies abandoned,

the phoenix-flamed

idol of

resilience

stays

broken.

for if, in the

end, stuck time

can’t be escaped:

still, life overflows

in a landscape

of death, potential

igniting through

otherwise

grace.

bone becomes blood

becomes flesh becomes

breath – bodies that

dance a new

world

in place.