Monday, March 12, 2012

For the Love of How

How. Why do I love this word? Perhaps it is the way I must open my mouth, flatten the back of my tongue, make space in my throat to utter it. There is a gentling below my ears in the soft flesh of my neck when I wrap my voice around this word and deliver it into the air.

It is the word of our dreams, the way in or out, the answer to a million questions. It is the million questions. How we love, how we move, how we lift ourselves up into our above-ground visions of ourselves and our lives. It is the open circle we must pass through, into a blue sky, into a vast space that means the absence of limitation, the dissolution of borders, the countries of our selves spilling across their jet streams, the places where those borders existed once, before they were decimated by our faith. Oh!

How is an exuberance, a yellow sun, a deep open vowel, portal between words and the real and what they both contain. How is a fleshy kiss, a promise, a ring around my love. It comes to my lips every time I feel this exultation--so what if all my poems begin the same way? If it reflects my sensation in all the moments of their geneses, then I accept a lifetime tome of poems that begin with How!