poetry:

you are my geography,

my astronomy.

you alone

make my place in the world, 

the universe,

clear.

you teach me

that love 

can be your grand

unified theory

of everything.

that the poem 

exists

in the cracks,

the in-between—

that where things are broken 

they’re given shape,

definition—

that I 

am the same.

yes,

that when I break,

then, 

and only then 

do I learn my true name.

you teach me

god is not dead,

nor high magick —

that poetry is incantation,

to spin verse

is to be spell bound—

but is it 

to discover magic 

or to create it?

I can’t say which—

but it is to name

the tomb of modernity

Lazarus.

to command verse

is to command the grave—

poetry:

the language of life.