Universe
poem
Universe Every bit of DNA that existed still exists. You can breathe in Shakespeare or Amelia Earhart or Buddha if you happen to be in the right place. You can breathe in your dead mother and father when you visit your childhood home. You can breathe in your childhood self. Go visit that graveyard on your reservation and you can breathe in all of your ancestors. At this very moment, you are also breathing in a thousand ancestors of people whom you’ve never met. There are cities of strangers flowing in your lungs and blood. There are cemeteries in your bones. O, didn’t you know that all of us play host to everybody’s ghosts?



I feel exactly the same way about Substack. Thanks so much for sharing your amazing work with us all.
My house isn't dusty, it's a reliquary.