The rasp of breath, pulse & pounding —
these are too easy, obvious.
The taste of blood in the back of the throat
a part of the tale we like to forget.
It’s not the sounds that creep out of silence
throbbing and thrumming in our ears,
nor the slow crawl of the earth’s crust,
the bright ululation of molecules
chiming as they interleave light orbits
curling into crystal structures
with a fugal intensity
beyond the senses of this human flesh.
Somewhere in between the nano and gross,
between oscillation, surge, light,
a cell flashes with heat to another,
a mimosa opens its leaves —
rhythms that flutter through evolution
in cracks, creaks, calls, cries; creating cadence
from clench and nerve, a loosening
that weaves through all and opens us.