Overgrown Reason and Caution

We must, too, have shoots

reaching out for nourishment

to find the warm light

that coaxes 

in electric whispers 

our hearts out

from our damp chests

and into the throes of living,

daring and illogical,

which seems to be 

the only way to love.

And as the leaves 

extend their arms,

to brush through

these xylophone ribs,

my body buzzes 

with their songs of thrill,

of heart’s expansion,

preparing for freefall,

no longer supported

by veins or muscle,

reason or forethought,

but only by a yearning,

older than itself,

to arrive without caution

into the world.