I live and write in the grips of an unbreakable hope.
A hope that no matter how deep the holes that fall us,
no matter the bending, breaking, mending,
will always sit at the heart of the matter.
A hope that hollers and hurts and holds and heals.
A hope that leaves … only to return with ladders and microscopes.
A hope that sweeps voices out from under the carpet … and plays.
A hope that sees the worst, speaks the worst, knows the worst, yet
seeks the source for another, always another, romantic-as-all-fuck love poem.
A hope that I will not leave to be left unspoken.