i have arrived at my altar. hark!
i rise, i flourish,
i pirouette on my one toe and float like a prayer.
this is my triumph; the issuance of mornings,
how they roll out to the percussion of a pulse.
to what does one ascribe these complexities?
for twenty years, all of life, cradled by a pair of parentheses,
crackled in the bones of some equation;
certitude quietly burrowed itself under folds of skin.
verily had i exhausted my set of sure events.
in the canopy of my youth, i counted holes and not enough sheep.
O arithmetic, you brute! i wrung you out my fingers that night.
thus came the spring in which i heaved like the ocean.
one thousand faculties hurled atop a giant wave;
when it broke, i broke so carelessly with it.
the heart, wont to crucify, fluttered dirges and ate the moon.
i shelled out a vein, a puff of life yet to be snuffed out;
i sobbed, i survived my torched Thornfield.
i prostrate; i am no longer rocked by the tremor of emotion.
here i design, here i dwell in stillness and embellish inwardly.
O Providence! you stir, you hum, you consume like a lone poem.
and so it is: in my palms rests a love that does not torment.
i shatter, i conquer with a syllable. this is my beginning.