I love the vibrations of my skin
in the cold grocery store aisle.
Life is good. Even crying I love.
Ear massage by each drop
swinging down to my jawbone
to trace their tracks so slow.
I’m more confident now coming through the clouds.
Though no hay for my bed
I can’t be bled.
Blood is for family and for spirit brethren.
I split bread with those closest
and make eye contact with those passing.