is the honest work of the body,
its engine, its wind.
It too must have its sails - wings
in this tiny mouth, valves
in the human heart, meanings like sailboats
setting out
over the mind. Passion is work
that retrieves us,
lost stitches. It makes a pattern of us,
it fastens us
to sturdier stuff
no doubt.
from "I Watched a Snake," Jorie Graham
I read this today. Hoo, boy.
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