Summing it All Up

Sometimes, the light in the morning 
up over the newly snowed peaks 
breaks open my heart, like a window 
hit by a hammer, or an overripe 
apricot. It’s a heady mixture, that, 
glass shards and sweet juice running 
all through my veins. You’d think it would 
cut. Instead, it flows like a molten 
river of lava, shimmering through my skin. 
Yesterday, I stood naked in the yard 
steaming from the hot tub watching the moon 
tip its dark side into the empty branches, 
​a sliver of glimmer, like a fingernail 
left to the voodoo of sky. 
 
Beckon what lingers, unspoken, unformed, 
and let its newness unfold in you 
cool and comfortable as a hand 
on a fevered brow. When it comes, 
nothing else will matter.