searching for, thirsty of
the thrilling uncertainty of days,
the roar of air caressing our faces
brought to my lungs
the longing for
horizons I've never crossed before.
We gave up story and name;
we made water of ourselves
so we could surf the veins
of this beating universe.
So we could dance in the edge of twilight
giving birth to new characters
for our souls to inhabit;
so our souls could grow beyond
what we thought we could manage.
We shed our parched old skin,
the light that paints this world.
Untitled, by Mike Ranta