CALL ME BELOVED

each poem I write reads to me like
it’s cast in shadow, dozens of corners
and recessed bits in the phrasing
where darkness pools and makes all
the syllables clumsy and grim – so
I force beauty into my lines, and
into my life, by proxy.

I strive to rescusitate those
letters across the page, as a reminder
that this is not a disaster, but only another day.
with enough effort, even the choke of panic
in your throat that comes from the meer
weight of living – even that breathlessness
can be beautiful. the joy of living
has never left, it will never go away.