Ah, yes, yoked and severed. I do know the palette of those colours. Sometimes an exquisite pain. Or at least it has been for me. Perhaps all the more exquisite for its puniness. For the sense of it not being proportional. For it being invisible. For it not being one of the big sorrows. 

Another title for me to read, All My Puny Sorrows. The books are piling. Maybe that’s my winter. Another winter of books. Last winter to understand. To heal. This winter to… I look forward to deciding.

I just watched How To Be Home, your recommendation. Wow! Loved. Had to find How To Be Alone. Hints of Glenn. Slathered in talent. Makes me want to create even more. (also makes me want a red hat.) Collaboration. Mixed Media. Words and visuals and meaning. But I always want to do that, somehow.

“If touch was a tether that held you together…” 

The void of touchlessness 
in this era
will leave its own scars. 
On some of us, 
at least.
Like lungs 
that won’t heal.

A tether.
A yoke.
An anchor.
An orbit.

Freedom in the binding.
For me.

And electricity in the touching.
All these things 
that touch me,
with joy
with gratitude
with longing
with sorrow
with beauty

exquisite aliveness.

May your cave days 
lead to emerging.

And may I 
be more phoenix
than ashes.

With love,



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