It’s a fullness and a comfort,
a romp in the clay after a bird’s eye view.
It’s a wave washing over you
while the flame still burns.
It’s a Taurus moon
that mingles softly, subtly, into your veins.
You realize the breeze is lighter,
the owl is still outside your window.
It’s that extra minute of noticing.
That’s how she gets you,
how you start to regenerate into you.
That crack in your heart opens
as more light shines through
(and you didn’t even know);
and there you go.
Don’t wait for the Dead to tell you
what you already feel.
You have the strength;
you know who you are.
She’ll push you until you budge,
until you hear it:
that small voice inside, whispering,
“I’m thankful to be me.”