What is this body?
What is this neck, and these teeth?
What is this sound?
This sound (do you hear it?)
coming from some deranged creature deep in the green,
coming now to these honeyed branches,
mouth drawing its bow on the violin,
eyes listening for the wind’s slashing stanzas.
Here, drunk and cleansed by sweetness.
Here, struck into song, then released.
Who knows the distance of this flight?
Who knows anything of the current, or the risk
of staying still, or the risk of leaving,
or the risk of silence or chatter, or the risk of losing the way,
which is always happening.
What else is there?
Aren’t we the beautiful disaster we are always on the verge of making?
Why would a heart be willing to break,
if not for this?

maya stein
Maya Stein is a Ninja poet, writing guide and creative adventuress. She has been a freelance writer and editor for more than 20 years and has self-published five books along with a handful of writing prompt booklets. Her latest books are “Grief Becomes You,” a collection of writings and photographs on the subject of loss from more than 60 contributors, and “The Poser: 38 Portraits Reimagined,” a full-color coffee table book of contemporary portrait re-enactments.
Maya facilitates workshops and retreats, live and online, and also works one-on-one with people interested in deepening their creative practice and bringing new work to fruition.
After a 7-year stint in suburban New Jersey, she is now happily ensconced in the wilds of mid-coast Maine in a house named Toad Hall.
You can connect with Maya on her website.

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