what to do with this wild precious life
it’s only at the edge of courage that you begin to feel
the days when you go dancing
when you race and run until breathless heart churning
you collapse into dreamless sleep

when a ship goes out to water
they bring yards of sail
because they know that to be pushed by the wind
means that at some point your canvas will break

they always save a bit to sew up sailors
who get buried at sea

tattered and torn, we stitch ourselves up
each with only enough to make the trip up the coast
saving coins in our eyes to pay the ferryman

so i’m telling myself to spend my hours
with the wind at my back, salt spray in my hair
knowing that the rips in the fabric
may not heal with time
bravely loving while
knowing that everything ends

there once was a story of two waves
one, scared, asked the other:
what happens when we hit the shore? will it hurt?
the other just answered:
it’s okay
we are all just water

repeat after me:
it’s okay
this has already happened
and we’re just acting it out
we have exactly what we need with us
no more, no less

you’re already gone
i’m loving a ghost
and it’s good to be haunted this way

what happens in the stretch of time
before we crash and come undone?
we could drown or
we could surf
kissing like sandpiper murmurations
remembering what it means to live between moments
between the beginning and the end