“…sometimes I forget, and I do, and when it takes me in I often nearly weep, I feel something breaking a little bit inside, and I think this is joy.” —Ross Gay
Tuwa, kasiyahan,
galak, ligaya—
each a different kind
of overflow—
Sudden delight
then months of fitful to no
sleep
trying to remember
how to enter the space
between each weave
Once I dreamed
of drifting in a small
boat downriver
It was quiet
as I lay on the bottom
I watched the sky
roll its soft blue cloth
high above my head
Anything could have punctured
the silence in the trees
My pockets full of holes
Sunlight's insistent voice
The moon asking to borrow
more light