Our complicated lives have been
whittled down
to one spoon,
warm water,
red rice.
All the wool we’ve been winding
spinning, weaving has begun
to uncoil, a gentle
coaxing back
by the lamb
grazing softly in the meadow
of our bodies in bed
with a belly of ghee
through the morning.
Our past traumas
stain the weave of our wonder.
I hand wash my pillowcase
let it bake
back to nearly clean
in the hot, Kerala sun.
Like the ghee
we soak our stains loose
give way
open the channels out
like a blue whale finally breaking
the surface
to surrender and receive
so much tightly
wanted
breath.
the most beautiful thing
is to love each other
and be a witness
be a witness
to each other
as we burn.