i didn’t eat the sun

but

          it

                                  poured

                                                                    into

                                                                               me

I didn’t eat the ocean but the waves of the

south the east the west and the north

lapped against my feet and my soles drank

in the saltwater i didn’t eat the roads but a

thousand miles of asphalt rebuilt my bones

filling in all the faultlines all the places worn

down to breakage i didn’t eat the monte but

the earth the scent of earth the scent of

monte the scent of lluvia filled me and filled

me and remade my flesh i didn’t run with the

coyotes but i howled with them i howled with

them and

remembered

                               what

                                            freedom

                                                                        was

i didn’t eat the wind but it found my mouth

and poured in and i felt my wings my

shriveled long forgotten wings filling and

stretching and reaching and unfolding how

was it i’d forgotten myself how was it i’d

collapsed and collapsed in on myself i didn't

eat the sun but all the light came streaming

in and oh with what gladness with what

relief with what joy i received it so much

light when i hadn't even known

i’d

             been

                              sitting

                                            in

                                                          the

                                                                       dark