Once lit never truly extinguished
We are not born once
but in a million ways in a million moments
made & chosen, lost & broken
in a brilliant spectrum of
truth & denial,
of light & trial
Sudden or slow
shapes & makes us
ever different than the moment before.
Death is different
It never feels as complete as birth
The memory holds
It cradles the past in soft palms & fingertips
or in tight clutches
But never again wholly unknown
as the birth of a new connection
Neuron to neuron, pupil to pupil
once lit never truly extinguished.
190815 Aug. 2019 lgf
She paused on the ridge,
dashing memories on the rocks,
and pulling truth back up
it is the number one thing I feel writing this, after being so absent for months. I would hope I was digesting, adjusting. perhaps that is true. I would like to see it so.
in truth, i hesitated even finding the words, as my mind searched to remember this place. only to find that the key was already unlocked. it has just sat here, waiting for me. patiently, as good things seem often to do.
but right under that feeling and maybe even pushing up from under, like a child using his arms to hold up the top of the fort, I feel joy. Joy that I remember the feeling of contributing, that I can get better at it. That love is worth sharing. That telling stories is part of who we are as people. That art affects.
Realizing this, I will try to begin, bare chested. Forgetting heaviness, letting go, filling up light airy lungs with good, with truth.