Image - 2026-06-07 00:14

Turn this poem into a video I did not know the body could open like this— not wound, not door, but something luminous learning its edges as if feeling were a color arriving all at once I can see music not hear— that would be smaller I mean it spills it stains the air it gathers behind the eyes like weather with intention and I am inside it or it is inside me and I cannot tell which is the truer miracle I can see music it moves in chords of gold and low blue pressure it hums against the ribs until the ribs forget they were meant to protect anything and isn’t that the terror— how quickly the body abandons its defenses when something beautiful speaks its language I can see music and it is not hers not anyone’s it is mine this capacity this unbearable fluency to take a moment— a glance, a tone, a brief alignment of care— and make it cathedral make it sky make it something that does not end when the moment does I can see music which means I can make meaning out of nearly nothing which means I am never alone even when I am which means this is dangerous this brightness this willingness to believe in radiance because I can generate it because I can flood the ordinary until it confesses something divine I can see music and I am trying— I am trying not to drown in it not to hand it away to the nearest source of warmth but to stand here holding it like light that has chosen a body like something holy that does not belong to anyone else not even the ones who awaken it I can see music and for a moment I understand why people call this love when it is also God