Memories have always been wild things.
It took me 20 years to learn not to hunt for them,
nor cage them in the margins of a photo.
This is how man clings to what he imagines joy is—
tightly, wringing a cloth that has never held water.
In the first moment of letting go,
something unknown tumbled into my chest
and pooled like warm whiskey.
Untethered I drifted a while,
watching a swift world eddy around my feet—
now I think I would very much like
to stop trying to capture wind;
to let myself be stolen by the sublime and
I should like to be carried
very far away.
I should like to be wild for a time
and hold onto this roaring in my throat.
(c) 2014 Marie KR