Say it, if even in your heart.

Sometimes songs are that quiet on the outside.

Start right here, now. The texture on the top unfurling layer of your rhythmic heart is the first petal, utterly available. Generous.

Take a wiff. Touch it to your lips.

There is bounty where I am headed now.

My compass has pointed me there.

There is a right next place. 

Negotiating fiercely with the unknown, I cannot permit death to take me this way. Instead, I open the animal of doubt inside this crunchy rib cage so I can smell my own blood and feel the pulse of my heart beat that connects me to all living things.

I have arrived at the bridge of no return,

when once traversed will lead to a truer home.

Strange beauty to behold this final step,

both perfectly called for, yet subtly pressed,

like a wildflower between two dated pages of a book,

somehow retaining its hue.