In praise of the world we carry inside of us I sing.
In praise of the ancient water warmed to a pleasant 98.6 degrees. The carbon circulating in and out of bodies for a million generations give or take. In praise of whatever it is that cannot be spoken in us. In praise of our half-assed words – spirit, soul, mind, life-force – that cannot pin it down.
In praise of the unexplored, unreachable caverns of self I sing.