It is Saturday, remember? All windows and doors. Thrown open.
The moon loves her centaur. And then too, her goat. I live in this heartbeat trot, this break into canter, this hurtling. I am at home in this rhythm, this harnessing, this build. I am a thunder so vast and so quiet I can't be heard at all, a vibration telling itself from feet to ground, ground to feet. Here I am now, here I am, riding it.