By your grace, my bound tongue loosens;
you unfurl your closed fist and there:
my animal eyes swallowing tears
and dilating for the seam of light.
We can reconfigure, you whisper;
your voice a thread of rational love.
It sews an opening for me to pass through.
We can let go and hold on, you whisper;
your voice a glimmering aqueous faith.
Oh see, you say, all that you need
is alive and living in the world.
I am not your completed self.
I am not your working out.
I am not your closed circuit.
I can be your jumping off,
your reaching out,
your open growth,
your tendril charged to the sun.
All of me releases you, so you shall return.
Your skin will become a pyre
of living parchment,
of sainted joy,
that I will burn to touch.