The Quiet Climb

the quiet climb has a scream of anger

an agony, a twisting motion

within

the folded serpents are all set

to throat, to suck the subtle

of that little life

what whispers the birds awake

but light & love & hunger

& wind & wild & worry 

death never pulled me, gentle hand extended,

inspiring me to life

death never made me run

Life, bold & fragrant, grasped me

& tumulted me into the world—lips gasping the lungs open with air

there, that quivering pulse in

the violent light, a breath, & a string of black pearlescent song 

climbing slowly, up the throat,

to gape at all the world below

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