This is how it is: we live again.
We rise up
from the deathbed in our grave-clothes
and we walk again
and we open
every window,
and we live again, though living
is the cost.
Yes, my friends, I have a thing to tell you:
My story
is like any, on this wild earth:
I rose up, I was broken,
and I rose again-
and although I closed my arms
around my body,
although I said that darkened harp
was ruined,
the nights have filled my life with brutal music
that has taught me that we're only here
to listen,
to hold each other awhile
and to listen,
and to carry each other
with the song of songs inside us
that is wiser, and is greater than our changes,
and that sings the way most wholly when we're lost.
-Joseph Fasano
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