Animals don’t speak.
Laughing together, we cast shadows in the lamplight. Our arms and legs, our hands and feet, I wonder what happens to the animals we make on my bedroom wall...the animals whose forms we imagine, the animals whose forms we become?
Tongue-tied, searching for language, my mouth doesn't say what my heart knows, and my words continue to miss the mark. Still, I speak. I am learning to trust my foolishness.
I want to learn not to speak, like the animals do.
In the lamplight, in the starlight, in the light of our flickering desire, we laugh and see the animals still, and I am not afraid.
Long ago, he wrote to me, “Everything became absurd and luminous in that laughter. The world was turned inside out...."
