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Resurrection,
from beauty,
to beauty,
into beauty.
I shed the tears in parting
and tearing.
I remove myself from myself
with the still air leaning into me.
I stand in the flesh
me and the air.
A calling to the cloak and
I dig deep into the fibers
woven years from now,
stitched together with the words of who I shall be.
A suit of stories.
I touch the fabric to my damp face,
the familiar scent of my soul marks my sleeve.
And I know now this armor
is mine.
Forged by the future.
Soft, and welcoming.
The wind stirs with its hand on my back,
pressed armor on raw skin
and I move on.
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