The Other Side of The Incantation 

it is a summer day 
and you are too much alive. 
The breeze removes your skin 
the chain link fence breathes light 
and time stops. It could all come crashing down again 
the way daylight savings time starts over 
and afternoons get black. There are no guarantees 
only facts, miracles, and misunderstandings. 

In the beginning it seemed clear 
the revolution was too urgent to be beautiful. 
Freedom was something that made you grind your teeth 
it made you sob it made you broke it made you come 
like the explosions at the end of the world 
it made you sorry. Freedom was something you could not carry 
across the border. It was something you could not keep. 
Freedom had scruffy wings and dirty hair and broken shoes 
freedom had cold ears and holes in her heart 
where the night went. Freedom got swept off the streets 
and locked in a padded room. Freedom forgot that she was real. 

Sometimes what is real erupts 
through the keys in our spine 
to make music like earthquakes. Sometimes it plants 
a kiss like a promise smudged in the corners of our souls. 
Sometimes it leaves a ghost in our bellies 
and an ache in our eyes. It does not offer instructions. 
We do not understand that we must practice 
over and over again. The other side of the incantation 
is doing the work. It is not enough 
to climb this mountain once.