You are by far the most glorious of highnesses
a beatific morning,
oh parting fog
how I sing with my socks on
and stretch in the light
humming the prayers so innately
stitched to the insides of my mouth

Mint water and honey roll down my throat
cooling my heart,
decreasing its pressure,
lightening its weight
so that it may float up in my chest
A soft white thing,
a moth in my ribcage,
fixed yet floating,
seeking fragile light

I stretch outside my window
and hear drums within my joints.
the beat beneath my feet,
the tide’s incessant beckoning,

reeling me back in

(Sergio Mora contributed this poem.)