ar•tic•u•la•tien

your body is
the poet’s voice
the painter’s brush
the musician’s instrument
your body sings
of all your tongue
is too clumsy to share
of passionate subtlety
and the darkness of the well
of bridled desire
and the vast freedoms of living
one more day

your body articulates
the unconstructed self
naked as a flame
straining to penetrate
aching to personify revelation

your body is
your voice
and is never silent
not even in death
which is, to begin with,
your initiation into
the insatiable chorus