Bidden by tatters, and gravity’s mutable arc, the palpitations guide me.
They are subtle, duly engaged, a milk-slow run of shivers.
Bracing the rim, I peer out of cavedark: everything is sudden,
color-soaked, a ferocious din and melt,
fringed shawls of plasma groped by wind.
My eyes struggle to adjust.
At first they all seem like vagrant stabs of light, undifferentiated,
and then comes the exact piercing, prayer of motherlight warming my lungs,
as if I’ve swallowed a blush.
I realize, with grave tenderness, that I am being born of this split,
the heir and progeny of absence.
Hers, his: a recursive lineage of fractures.
Ready or not, my history is formed, my destiny fixed—
I am a furious comeback waiting to happen.