My body is a kind thing,
carrying so many heavy objects along its roads
It takes the clouds and makes breath,
filling the caves of my lungs with songs
My body fills its branching coffers
with delight
caramelized offers of taste and smell
fill my plate
My pain is stored away in its drawer, and in its place
a thousand songbirds
disperse
across
the horizon
© Psyche Marks 2019