Our messengers are falling from the sky, hearts broken, wings still warm. We need new stories and new tellers. Each one of us must weave our own new myth. A fiction greater than the sum of our parts. A reality teaming with multiplicity. The threads are unraveling. Watch them as they go. Find the nib that’s left and write a new story. Weave a new basket. Hold each other. Hold all the brothers and sisters.
Our messengers are falling from the sky
You’re a poet, and I hope you know it! 🙌🏻💗