what can i tell you before i go?
you, who will occupy this cell after me.
(this cell that i wanted to take apart
with my bare hands,
i breathed and dreamed
and pissed in the corner,
and tapped the walls in case anyone could hear.
i’m tapping the wall now.
can you hear my heart,
like a finger pointing at the moon?
don’t look here.
look out the window.
the moon is yours.
the sky is yours:
the clouds, the stars, the wild geese.
even when you can’t see them.
someone was here before me.
look over there:
“you do not have to be good,” she wrote.
“you only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.”
burrow down as far as you can
into the rabbit hole of your body
(your body that belongs to no one but you).
if you dig far enough,
you’ll always find yourself
in someone else’s basement.