they have a natural fling about them

these joyous ropes they call bodies
and at the same time are so vulnerable... so unabashedly wounded

I am learning how to forgive and how to exalt by watching them

how    their    forgiveness is not held in the hands. instead it blows across the face and washes the brain clean of all memory

it's in their total lack of gracefulness, it's their raw untethered bodies with arms and legs each having their own agenda. when they move it's like watching a village grow around four different religions.  and its out of these same spineless wigglers that the source of tenderness is sleeping. their tender spots lay open like meat waiting on a sill, exposed, getting warm and rancid. the sun razoring into their hope; burning up their logic, and all the while the glass of their minds stays open. its this wideness of their bodies that keeps them believing in more         consequently dissolving the concept of limitations.

when they run, their tongues hang out and flip to stick on the sides of their dewey faces. when they run and they are equal parts celebratory and terror. the sight is enough to raise the hairs on your arms up in gratitude.  to know that humans can fill up in that way, allowing the flood of feelings to mix and combust and then pour freely through the teeth and the eyes--it somehow makes all of this living worth it.