Photo / Jocelyn Maloney
It is easy to forget the origins of my making.
Oh how I need you in this nighttime, when reality is thin.
I need you to be a cloud dissolving rain around my muscles, a wise wolf watching, a murmur bleeding into skin.
When the clock strike rule of days threatens me with endings, it is easy to forget the origins of my making, but at night the animals are waiting.
They are howling - panting - praying
that all my words will disappear.
This is the sleep dance serum that wails across our limbs until it locks.
This is the darkness stalking our untended wilderness with water.
This is the secret waking to our lips as lucid dreamers.
This is the garden calling our bodies by their name.
I am a Portland, Oregon based writer, filmmaker and choreographer. I believe stories activate the code of empathy, dissolve the grip of isolation, voice our animal truths and hunt our human treasures.