Under everything—beneath the blaring of our fire alarm hearts,
below the rising death toll, in this very basement of rock bottom,
there is a flicker of something other than fear. Call it by whatever
name you please: hope, safety, recovery, a wild thing with feathers—
it is there, baking in the earth of our bodies, stirring until the hour
comes to make its presence known. Will you call for it with me?
Will you summon its great homecoming? It aches to hold you, to
untangle the matted knots in your hair, to wipe the sweat from
your brow, to wash away the aftermath of old tears, already dried.

Under everything— our skin, our sorrow, this making of awful
history, our lives are pregnant with a return to innocence. Call
it by its name. Pursue it like first love. Come to me, comfort. Come
build yourself a home in this broken place, under everything, in me.

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