Poetry of the body,
this tracing of currents
to see where thoughts travel,
glimmers of fish in streams,
where debris has diverted
fresh flow
and can be shifted.
And of course these thoughts
are rarely words,
moving as sensation and mood,
colours of some cousin to electricity.
Despite my blindness
and all the ways I am numb,
there is a kind of listening
that touches on knowing
and by these fragile threads
I lead myself home.