Thus

I live in a world, incomprehensibly diverse, with endless patois, patina, pigment, songs, stories, species, tensions and tears, coming and going always.

I live in a country changing by the minute, a snake eating its tail, a dream dissolving, its future behind us.

I live on a mountain, primed to burn, kindling all around, squawking Stellars Jays warning us to run and leave everything to the flames.

I live on a dirt road, a half kilometer long, with seven neighbors, twenty-five years so far, dear  ones whose lives are mysterious and unknown to me.

I live in a house, with my best friend and lover, and we know each other below the skin, and are most often intimate strangers.

I live in a body losing its grace, longing for rest, minding its pain.

I live alone, occasionally terrified, always in awe, asking who, and asking what, but never asking why.

So, I live like this, between my fingertips, just thus, and it is enough.