in the slow moments it is clear.
the radical self wandering
details faded and unnecessary.
they do not matter.
the clarity comes in the breath.
in the expansion.
in the freedom.
in what the color of release looks like.
i can’t tell you what that color is.
that detail feels too tremendous.
because it is the color
of letting it all go.
of rising with the sun
on the first day of creation.
when even she herself
didn’t know her own potency.
afraid of her own illumination.
to shine too brightly in the
darkest corners. to bring to the
surface all the radiance she swallowed
until her creator called it forth.
if you asked the sun herself,
she’d tell you she was her own creator.
exploding out of herself so fiercely,
she birthed the entirely of humanity in
one fiery poem.
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